MILDEW 


BELLE  •  K-  MANIATES 


\ 


MILDEW  MANSE 


I  called  them  in  and  read  the  letter.     FRONTISPIECE. 
See  page  198. 


MILDEW  MANSE 


BY 


BELLE  K.  MANIATES 

AUTHOR  OF  "  AMARILLT  OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY,"  ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
WILLIAM  VAN  DRESSER 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 

1916 


Copyright,  1916, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved 
Published,  January,  1916 


SET   UP  AND   ELECTROTYPED   BY   THE   PLIMPTON   PRESS,    NORWOOD,    MASS.,    U.S.A. 
PRINTED   BY   S.    J.    PARKHTT.T.   &   CO.,    BOSTON,    MASS.,    U.S.A. 


SRLF  5141101 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

I  called  them  in  and  read  the  letter ....    Frontispiece 

Down  went  my  head  on  the  music  rack  and  I 

had  the  weeps  —  hard PAGE      68 

Learning  to  walk  on  the  wavering  fence  with  a 

balancing  pole 127 

Haphiram  had  betrayed  my  retreat       ...         "       231 


MILDEW   MANSE 


March  25th. 
FATHER-DEAR: 

HERE  am  I,  Little  Jumping  Joan,  as  you 
used  to  call  me,  in  a  city  far  away  from 
that  four  by  nine  place  where  you  and  Mark 
left  me.  I  can  see  your  look  of  consterna- 
tion and  hear  your  guarded  gutterals,  but 
read  farther  and  you  will  see  that  I  have 
landed  on  my  feet  —  steady  little  feet,  you 
always  said.  You  will  also  see  that  I  am 
better  housed  and  homed  than  I  was  in  that 
halfway  hamlet  on  the  hillside. 

You  know  I  never  could  stay  "put"  any- 
where. The  wanderlust  which  sent  you  to 
Northern  Alaska  to  recuperate  our  fallen 
fortunes  brought  me  here.  I'd  rather  be 
an  agile  ashcat  in  an  alley  than  a  lonely  lily 
in  the  field,  anyway;  and  then,  too,  daddy 
dear,  I  want  to  be  a  help  instead  of  the 
hindrance  I've  always  been  to  you. 


MILDEW  MANSE 

I  couldn't  let  you  split  even  with  me  when 
you  need  so  much  money  for  our  gold-dredg- 
ing proposition,  so  I  put  three-quarters  of 
the  amount  you  left  for  me  in  a  package 
and  gave  it  to  Mark  to  deliver  to  you  after 
leaving  Seattle. 

Right  here  let  me  tell  you  not  to  expend 
too  much  sympathy  on  Mark.  He  didn't 
go  with  you  to  the  wilds  of  Alaska  on  ac- 
count of  a  broken  heart,  but  because  —  well, 
that  is  his  story.  And  don't  delude  your- 
self with  the  hope  that  absence  will  make 
the  heart  grow  fonder.  It  never  does;  not 
a  healthy  heart,  anyway. 

No;  you  and  I  have  feasted  and  famined 
together  for  twenty  years  and  lived  in  many 
air-castles,  but  we  have  now  come  down  to 
earth  —  I  mean  sand,  and  whether  it  sifts 
gold  or  is  only  good  for  footprints,  I  want 
no  shining  Mark  —  only  my  dear  young 
daddy. 

You  know  you  promised  that  this  was  to 
be  our  last  flyer  at  a  fortune  and,  win  or 
lose,  you'd  settle  down  with  me  to  a  hearth 
and  home  life. 

To  return  to  my  running  jump:  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  exchange  the  peace  of  the 
[2] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

pastures  for  the  turmoil  of  town  and  become 
a  little  self-supporter.  Inventory  of  my 
qualifications  towards  this  end  was  not  en- 
couraging. I  am  not  of  the  one-talent  kind, 
you  know,  but  "flutter  in  all  ways  and  fly 
in  none."  I  can  sew  a  little,  embroider  less, 
play  the  piano  improperly  and  run  a  type- 
writer, but  never  made  the  word-signs  in 
shorthand  and  never  shall,  so  I  was  in  doubt 
what  to  try  my  hand  at,  until  I  recalled 
what  you  said  to  Mark  the  other  day  — 
that  times  are  changing  and  that  nowadays 
people  make  a  living  more  by  their  wits 
than  by  brains  or  labor,  so  I  set  my  wits  to 
working. 

My  light  refused  to  shine;  it  seemed  to 
be  a  dark  lantern  until  there  came  a  flash- 
light which  showed  me  how  to  capitalize 
my  semi-speciality  and  I  decided  to  open  a 
Bureau  of  Suggestions.  Like  you  I  am  no 
advocate  of  grass-growing,  and  I  hastened 
to  come  here  where  I  knew  just  one  person, 
Mrs.  Munk,  our  ex-housekeeper,  sole  sur- 
vivor of  that  brief  halcyon  time  when  we 
had  "maids  in  plenty."  Fortunately  we 
have  always  kept  up  a  Christmas  card  com- 
munication, so  I  knew  her  address.  Like 
[3] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

the  Little  Old  Woman  called  Nothing-At-All, 
she  lived  in  a  dwelling  exceedingly  small, 
but  her  door  opened  invitingly  wide  to  me. 
She  looks  just  as  she  used  to,  plump  and 
billowy  of  form.  Do  you  remember  that 
Mark  always  referred  to  her  as  the  feather- 
bed? 

She  couldn't  grasp  our  change  of  fortune 
and  I  had  hard  work  to  convince  her  that 
our  one  and  only  prosperity  period  was  a 
thing  of  the  past.  I  told  her  of  your  Alaskan 
enterprise  and  she  was  quite  impressed, 
believing  it  to  be  a  gold  mine.  When  I 
explained  that  it  was  in  the  sands  you  were 
building  your  hopes,  she  thought  I  meant 
something  in  masonry  and  told  me  a  long 
rigmarole  about  her  son  having  taken  the 
third  degree.  Then  I  was  the  one  that  was 
muddled,  as  I  had  a  hazy  idea  that  third 
degrees  had  to  do  with  the  quizzing  of  wit- 
nesses or  criminals.  Finally  we  got  the 
sand  puzzle  solved,  though  she  is  rather 
pessimistic  as  to  your  prospects.  Said  she 
had  heard  of  people  warding  off  the  wolf  by 
sifting  ashes  but  had  never  heard  of  sifting 
sand. 

When  I  told  her  of  my  plan,  she  looked 

[4] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

upon  it  simply  as  one  of  the  visionary  fads 
of  the  idle  rich.  The  only  thing  about  it 
that  appealed  to  her  practicality  was  the 
fact  that  it  required  no  capital.  She  proph- 
esied suspension  of  the  "Bureau"  within  a 
week. 

The  place  to  establish  it,  I  told  her,  was 
where  there  would  be  a  great  many  people 
coming  and  going. 

"A  railway  station,"  she  promptly  offered. 

"No";  I  objected.  "People  going  are  in 
a  last  minute  rush,  and  those  coming  are 
bent  only  on  securing  —  or  dodging  —  the 
cabbies." 

"A  church,  then." 

"People  don't  spend  much  money  on  Sun- 
days," I  reminded  her.  "Besides  they  are 
too  lazy  on  the  Seventh  Day  to  care  for 
suggestions  about  anything." 

At  last  I  selected  a  restaurant  as  the 
best  locality.  After  eating,  people  are  good- 
natured  and  generous.  Before  eating  they 
are  philosophical  and  inquiring.  I  could 
get  them  both  ways. 

"If  it  is  a  restaurant  you  want,  I  know 
the  very  place,"  she  declared.  "There  is 
a  new  one  opened  on  First  Street,  and  they 
[5] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

have  a  vacant  space  to  let  across  from  the 
cashier  and  cigar  stand.  It  was  to  have 
been  a  candy  counter,  but  the  proprietor  of 
the  restaurant  was  afraid  it  might  keep  his 
customers  from  ordering  desserts.  He  said 
they  would  buy  candy  instead  of  pie." 

She  went  down  with  me  to  see  the  proprie- 
tor. He  had  an  Olympic  name  which  I 
cannot  spell  tonight,  and  he  regarded  my 
proposition  in  the  light  of  a  joke,  but  as 
Mark  says,  "Cash  down  talks,"  for  when  I 
handed  him  a  month's  rent  in  advance,  his 
viewpoint  was  completely  changed. 

"She's  a  good  looker,"  I  heard  him  say 
apologetically  to  his  partner,  also  Olympic 
—  who  seemed  to  be  hanging  back  on  the 
deal,  "and  it  will  be  a  novelty  and  so  a 
sort  of  ad  for  us." 

"But,"  the  partner  further  remonstrated, 
"the  Bureau  will  bust  and  she'll  quit  when 
her  month's  up.  We  want  to  get  some  one 
who  will  stick." 

"She  won't  quit.  The  fat  woman  says 
she  can  afford  to  lose." 

That  settled  it  and  I  was  O.K.'d  by  the 
firm.  I  went  into  my  business  venture  as 
you  have  done  so  many  times  with  the  sup- 
[6] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

port  of  only  my  own  convictions  but  with 
plenty  of  wet  blankets  hurled  at  me. 

From  the  restaurant  I  went  to  a  printer's, 
a  sign  painter's  and  a  second-hand  store. 
At  this  last  named  place  I  bought  a  desk, 
screen  and  two  chairs,  Mrs.  Munk  outjew- 
ing  the  Jew  in  cinching  the  bargain. 

The    next    morning    the    patrons    of    the 
restaurant  seemed  interested  and  amused  — 
two  good  omens  in  trade — by  the  artistically 
lettered  sign  above  my  desk: 
"Bureau  of  Suggestions." 
Some  lingered  to  read  the  placards  I  had 
conspicuously  displayed : 

"?????  Answered  while  you  wait." 
"Suggestions    given   in   business,   personal 
and  domestic  affairs." 

"Ask    and    you    shall    receive    answer,    if 
matter  is  within  the  knowledge  of  the  Bu- 
reau.    If  not,  no  fee." 
"Hints  are  Handy." 
"A  Word  to  the  Wise." 
"A  Step  in  Time  saves  many." 
"Suggestions  only  twenty-five  cents." 
My    first    customer    was    a    brisk    young 
business   man    whose    object   seemed   to    be 
amusement  rather  than  information. 
[7] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"I  have  just  opened  a  tea  and  coffee 
store,"  he  announced  flippantly.  "Can  you 
give  me  a  suggestion  as  to  a  good  drawing 
card  to  catch  customers?" 

"Where  is  your  place  of  business  located?" 
I  asked  in  as  commercial  a  tone  as  I  could 
assume. 

"Next  to  corner  of  First  and  High,"  he 
replied,  appearing  somewhat  discomfited  at 
my  impersonal  manner. 

"What  do  you  keep  besides  tea  and  coffee 
—  anything?"  was  my  next  question. 

"All  kinds  fancy  crackers,  cakes  and 
olives." 

He  spoke  glibly,  once  more  resuming 
interest  in  his  business  affairs  in  spite  of  the 
distractive  charms  my  modish  coiffure  seemed 
to  hold  for  him. 

I  thought  for  a  moment  and  then  I  said: 

"I  know  the  very  thing  for  you  to  do- 
but,  will  you  pay  the  fee  first,  please?" 

He  looked  sheepish  and  quickly  produced 
a  quarter  of  a  dollar. 

"There  is  no  cafe  in  the  vicinity  of  your 

store."     (You    see   I  had  "done  the  town" 

yesterday.)     "Why  not  serve  tea  and  coffee 

with  wafers  at  little  tables  through  business 

[8] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

hours?  Many  housekeepers  would  be  glad 
of  a  chance  to  sample  your  wares  and  re- 
fresh themselves  at  the  same  time.  You 
will  find  it  will  be  patronized  by  all  shoppers. 
There  will  be  no  expense  except  a  slight 
recompense  to  some  one  to  serve,  and  there 
will  be  no  loss.  Be  sure  to  have  thin,  dainty 
cups  and  saucers,  and  don't  forget  slices  of 
lemon  for  those  who  don't  take  sugar." 

He  looked  positively  beatific  and  added 
three  more  quarters  to  the  jackpot. 

"That's  such  a  simple  and  bully  good 
scheme  I  wonder  I  didn't  think  of  it  myself," 
he  exclaimed  as  he  hurried  away  to  carry  my 
plan  into  execution. 

Mrs.  Munk,  who  had  come  down  with  me, 
had  been  a  keen  observer  of  my  first  deal. 

"Miss  Joan,"  she  said,  "you  sure  take 
after  your  pa  for  business.  How  did  you 
ever  come  to  think  of  such  a  first-class 
scheme?" 

"That  was  easy,"  I  assured  her.  "Every 
woman  is  daffy  over  a  tea-room.  I  wish  all 
my  questions  might  be  as  simple  of  solution." 

I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  I  should  have 
accepted  his  "tip"  of  the  three  extra  fees, 
but  then  I  guess  he  got  his  money's  worth. 

[9] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

I  picked  up  my  four  quarters  with  an  odd 
little  sensation.  The  first  dollar  I  had  ever 
earned,  shame  on  me! 

I  think  Mrs.  Munk  now  felt  that  I  was 
equal  to  my  job  without  any  chaperoning, 
for  she  left  me,  saying  she  must  "hurry 
home  and  see  the  butter  girl." 

An  hour  later  a  rosy-cheeked  country  lass 
came  up  to  the  Bureau.  She  proved  to  be 
the  "butter  girl"  whom  Mrs.  Munk  had 
sent  to  me  for  help  in  securing  a  situation 
in  town  as  second  girl. 

I  took  down  her  name  and  qualifications 
and  told  her  if  she'd  call  in  the  morning  I 
was  sure  I'd  have  something  for  her.  If  not, 
I'd  give  back  her  quarter. 

I  decided  to  patronize  my  landlord  for 
luncheon  and  went  to  one  of  the  tables  before 
the  rush  hour  was  on.  I  purposely  picked 
a  table  at  which  two  well  dressed  women 
were  seated.  They  were  drinking  tea  and 
discussing  the  servant  problem.  One  of 
them  remarked  that  she  was  going  from  the 
restaurant  to  an  intelligence  office  to  get 
a  housemaid. 

I  butted  in  with  apologies  and  told  her  it 
would  be  to  her  advantage  to  stop  at  the 
[10] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Bureau  on  her  way  out,  as  I  could  supply 
her  needs  for  twenty-five  cents. 

Then  I  returned  to  my  place  of  business 
where  she  soon  followed  me. 

"Can  you  really  secure  me  a  good  house- 
maid?" she  asked  sceptically  as  she  handed 
me  the  fee. 

"Certainly.  Myra  Lamb,  country  girl, 
never  worked  out,  anxious  to  learn,  honest, 
clean,  capable,  willing  to  wear  apron  and 
cap,  no  city  acquaintances.  She  will  be 
here  tomorrow  morning  and  I  will  send  her 
to  you  if  you  will  leave  your  address." 

"It  sounds  too  good  to  be  true,  but  I'll 
take  anything  in  the  shape  of  a  human  form 
that  you  produce." 

Some  Smart  Alecks  came  up  next  and  one 
of  them  laid  down  a  quarter  and  asked  me 
what  color  necktie  I  would  suggest  for  his 
style  of  beauty.  I  wanted  to  advise  "green 
with  a  streak  of  yellow,"  but  I  knew  that 
would  not  be  good  business,  so  I  looked  him 
over  with  the  appraising  eye  of  a  photog- 
rapher and  told  him  he  should  never  wear 
anything  but  grey  or  black. 

Then  came  a  lull  and  the  proprietor  saun- 
tered up  to  my  desk.  I  told  him  I  had  a 


MILDEW  MANSE 

suggestion  for  his  business  which  I  would 
give  free  gratis. 

"I  notice,"  I  said,  "that  you  have  a 
sheet  of  extras  inserted  in  your  printed  menu. 
It  is  in  almost  unreadable  handwriting,  and 
the  items  are  all  jumbled  in  together.  I 
agree  to  keep  you  supplied  with  clean,  type- 
written sheets  of  extras  for  all  your  tables 
if  you'll  give  me  my  luncheon  and  dinner." 

The  bargain  was  closed  at  once.  I  brought 
with  me  your  old  typewriter  on  which  I  did 
all  the  gold-dredging  correspondence,  intending 
it  as  a  reserve  trump  in  case  the  "Bureau 
of  Suggestions"  didn't  pan  out. 

I  went  to  Mrs.  Munk's  that  night  with  a 
hop,  skip  and  jump.  Three  dollars  and 
grub  guaranteed  was  not  bad  for  a  first 
day's  assets.  I  shall  turn  most  of  my  cash 
now  on  hand  into  a  nest-egg  and  maybe  by 
the  time  you  come  home,  I'll  have  a  snug 
little  sum  to  help  build  our  home-house. 

Mrs.  Munk  had  just  received  a  letter  from 
her  third  degree  son  who  was  on  his  way 
home  from  the  West.  This  meant  that  I 
must  find  a  room  elsewhere.  We  looked  in 
the  advertisements  in  the  evening  paper,  but 
found  nothing  that  met  with  her  approval. 
[12] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"I  wish,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "that  I 
could  get  you  into  Mildew  Manse." 

"Mildew  Manse!"  I  repeated.  "What  in 
the  world  is  that?  An  institution?  It 
sounds  malarial  and  not  very  enticing." 

"It's  an  old  tumbledown  house  in  the  most 
fashionable  part  of  the  city  and  some  people 
live  in  it  who  are  unfashionable  but  as  good 
as  gold,  and  you'd  feel  at  home  there.  They 
have  loads  of  spare  rooms.  They're  a  nice, 
jolly  lot  and  you'd  never  be  lonesome." 

"Do  they  take  lodgers?" 

"No;  they'd  never  do  anything  so  prac- 
tical as  that.  It  wouldn't  occur  to  them 
and  they  need  money  bad  enough,  too.  I 
think,  maybe,  I  can  work  it.  They're 
accommodating  and  when  they  know  that 
you're  all  alone  here  and  your  pa  away  off 
in  Alaska  they'll  take  you  in  out  of  pity. 
They're  soft  hearted.  Every  one  that  has 
kittens  to  get  rid  of  drops  them  in  their  yard. 
I'll  run  up  there  in  the  morning  and  see  if 
I  can't  put  it  across.  If  they'll  take  you  in, 
Mrs.  Haphazard  would  care  for  you  like  you 
was  her  own." 

"Haphazard!  What  a  funny  name!"  I 
exclaimed. 

[13] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"Their  name  is  really  Hazard  but  they 
haven't  gone  by  it  since  the  day  one  of  the 
boys,  Haphiram,  was  asked  to  write  his 
name  on  the  board.  He  was  in  a  hurry  and 
he  cut  it  down  to  H.  Hazard.  The  teacher, 
who  was  a  new  one,  asked  him  what  'H' 
stood  for,  and  a  boy  sang  out  'Hap  Hazard.' 
He's  always  been  called  that  since,  and  then 
folks  got  in  the  habit  of  referring  to  them  by 
the  nickname  which  seemed  to  fit  them." 

"But  why  such  a  dismal  name  for  their 
house?" 

"Well,  you  see  the  place  is  mortgaged 
clear  up  to  the  chimneys  and  the  last  time 
they  tried  to  get  something  on  the  furniture, 
the  man  who  called  to  look  it  over  wouldn't 
give  anything.  He  muttered  something  as 
he  went  out  about  everything  being  moth- 
eaten  and  mildewed.  One  of  the  children 
heard  him  and  told  the  folks.  They  ain't 
at  all  sensitive,  except  perhaps  Jo,  and  they 
make  a  joke  out  of  everything,  so  they  said 
they  had  been  trying  to  think  of  a  good  name 
for  the  place  and  this  had  given  them  an 
idea.  So  it's  been  Mildew  Manse  ever  since." 

The  next  morning  I  brought  my  type- 
writer down  to  the  Bureau  and  wrote  out 
[14] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

the  menu  inserts.  I  had  a  few  customers 
and  the  tea  and  coffee  man  sent  a  reporter 
to  write  me  up  for  the  Sunday  edition. 

After  luncheon  Mrs.  Munk  dropped  in  to 
tell  me  that  I  had  been  promised  admit- 
tance to  the  coveted  lodgings.  I  closed  the 
Bureau  and  went  up  there  with  her. 

I  was  in  love  with  Mildew  Manse  as  soon 
as  I  saw  it.  There  seemed  to  be  no  door- 
bell working,  but  Mrs.  Haphazard  saw  us 
coming  and  let  us  in.  She  had  a  reposeful 
face  and .  manner  with  a  comfortable  and 
almost  childlike  air  of  ease.  She  took  us  up 
to  the  room  I  was  to  occupy  —  a  large,  high- 
ceilinged  room  big  enough  for  a  house  with 
lots  of  windows  in  it.  There  was  not  much 
furniture,  but  the  pieces  made  up  in  size 
what  they  lacked  in  quantity.  The  bed 
reminded  me  of  the  biggest  one  in  the  house 
of  the  Three  Bears.  I  do  adore  a  great, 
wide  bed  that  I  can  lose  myself  in.  I  would 
as  soon  sleep  on  a  closet  shelf  as  on  one  of 
those  terrible  cots  that  the  average  roomer 
clamors  for.  The  bureau  with  many  differ- 
ent sized  drawers,  a  washstand,  two  old 
chairs  —  a  grandmother's  rocker  and  a  barrel 
—  a  round  table  and  an  old-fashioned  lounge 
[15] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

—  not  a  davenport  or  a  divan  or  a  sofa,  but 
a  real  lounge,  —  comprised  the  furniture. 
There  was  a  dream  of  a  closet  with  lots  of 
shelves,  hooks  and  drawers. 

I  took  it  all  in  with  one  sweeping  glance 
and  asked  if  I  might  come  that  night.  "Any 
time,"  she  assured  me. 

Then  I  asked  the  price,  at  which  she 
seemed  to  be  quite  at  sea. 

"Oh,  whatever  you  think  it's  worth,"  she 
replied.  "It  doesn't  make  any  difference." 

It  seemed  so  heavenly  to  meet  just  one 
person  without  the  bartering  instinct  fore- 
most. I  wished  I  were  rich  so  I  could  put  a 
big  price  on  it.  I  suggested  Mrs.  Munk  as 
appraiser.  She  is  a  good  judge  of  values 
and  as  she  still  believes  me  to  be  rich,  I 
knew  she  would  not  "do"  them  in  my  favor. 
She  named  a  sum  which  Mrs.  Haphazard 
thought  entirely  too  high,  but  I_instantly 
closed  the  bargain  by  handing  over  a  month's 
rent  in  advance.  Then  I  asked  her  if  she'd 
mind  if  I  got  my  breakfast,  which  would 
consist  only  of  toast  and  coffee,  in  my 
room. 

"Yes,  I  should  mind,"  she  said  positively. 
"I  couldn't  enjoy  my  own  toast  and  coffee 
[16] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

—  that's  all  we  have  besides  marmalade  — 
if  I  knew  you  were  up  here  eating  alone. 
You'll  come  down  and  breakfast  with  us." 

"Oh!"  I  cried.  "May  I?  I'll  pay  you 
any  price  for  a  breakfast  at  a  home  table." 

"I  wouldn't  think  of  charging  you  for 
that,"  she  began,  but  Mrs.  Munk  cut  in 
and  said  in  a  decided,  clinching  tone: 

"She'll  pay  you  twenty-five  cents  a  break- 
fast." 

"Whatever  will  I  do  with  so  much  money!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Haphazard,  looking  really 
quite  overcome  by  her  prospects. 

"Do  something  you  never  did  before," 
counselled  the  mundane  Munk.  "Bank." 

"Oh,  we  have  a  bank  account,"  replied 
Mrs.  Haphazard  half  boastingly,  half  apolo- 
getically. "Jo  has  made  a  rule  —  the  first 
one  we  ever  had  in  our  house.  We  are  to 
keep  a  deposit  of  one  hundred  dollars  in  the 
savings-bank  for  an  emergency,  or  a  wet  day 
fund,  as  Tippy  calls  it.  Jo  started  it  with 
ten  dollars,  the  rest  of  the  children  chipped 
in  and  raised  five  dollars,  we  sold  some  old 
mining  stock  we  thought  was  worthless  for 
fifty  dollars,  and  now  I  can  soon  make  up 
the  balance." 

[17] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

When  we  were  outside  I  asked  if  Jo  were 
Mrs.  Haphazard's  husband. 

"No";  she  replied.  "He  is  the  oldest 
son  and  the  only  one  of  the  family  who  ever 
shows  a  streak  of  common  sense.  His 
streaks  are  thin  and  far  between,  like  the 
lean  in  bacon,  though." 

I  shut  up  shop  early  and  transferred  my 
trunk  to  my  new  home  where  I  have  been 
writing  to  you  all  the  evening  and  far  into 
the  night.  It  will  be  many  moons  before 
you  read  this,  for  you  remember  you  said 
to  send  all  letters  to  Nome,  as  you  didn't 
know  where  you  would  stop  for  experimental 
work. 

I  believe  Mark  does  not  intend  to  corre- 
spond with  me.  He  didn't  want  a  sister  or  a 
friend,  and  I  don't  want  a  husband.  I  am 
glad  it  has  made  no  difference  between  you 
two.  If  it  had,  I  should  have  jumped  into 
the  river.  There  is  no  friendship  in  the 
world,  I  think,  like  that  between  a  young  old 
man  and  an  old  young  man  when  they  are 
not  related.  It  seems  more  intimate  than 
the  relation  between  father  and  son. 

Now  that  I've  told  you  how  homey  I  am 
fixed,  I'll  say  good  night.  I  shall  write 
[18] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

often  and  you  will  have  to  take  a  day  off  to 
read  and  reply  when  you  reach  Nome. 

Hurry  up  and  make  your  fortune,  or  else 
lose  all  you  have,  so  we  can  put  out  our 
"at  home"  sign. 

With  lots  and  lots  of  love,  I  am 

YOUR  LITTLE  JUMPING  JOAN 


[19] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


April  5th. 
DEAREST  DADDY: 

YOUR  postal  cards  en  route  and  your 
nice  long  letter  from  Seattle  were  for- 
warded to  me.  Also  Mark's  picture  card 
of  the  Totem  Pole,  which  reminded  me  very 
forcibly  of  himself  as  I  last  saw  him,  towering 
aggressive  and  sphinxlike.  He  didn't  write 
a  single  syllable  save  the  address.  He  didn't 
need  to.  That  Totem  Pole  was  a  life-size 
picture  of  him  and  expressed  his  attitude. 
I  shall  send  him  at  Nome  a  Kodak  of  the 
restaurant  (interior  view). 

The  Bureau  is  right  on  the  boom.  Some- 
times my  ingenuity  in  devising  ways  and 
means  has  been  taxed  to  the  limit  and  then, 
too,  it's  rather  strenuous  to  think  things 
right  off  the  reel.  The  Answer  to  Corre- 
spondents Column  business  must  be  a  snap 
with  so  much  time  for  grinding  out  advice 
instead  of  having  to  hand  out  Solomon  stuff 
ready  made  as  I  do.  I  didn't  leave  my 
horseshoe  at  home,  however,  and  I've  de- 
livered the  goods  in  every  instance  with 
[20] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

two  exceptions,  and  even  then  I  was  able  to 
refer  my  customers  to  the  proper  place  for 
information. 

It's  astonishing  how  many  people  there  are 
in  our  Yankee  country  who  "want  to  know." 

My  write-up  in  the  paper  gave  me  good 
publicity  (I  wanted  to  add  a  notice,  "Alaska 
papers,  please  don't  copy")  and  there  has 
been  a  run  on  the  Bureau  from  every  con- 
ceivable class  —  rich  man,  poor  man,  beggar 
man,  etc.  I  have  laid  out  trips  for  travelers, 
remodelled  hats  and  dresses,  encouraged 
lovers,  helped  health  and  beauty  seekers, 
selected  cotillion  favors  and  told  a  girl  "how 
to  get  a  philopena  on  Billy  Lukes." 

The  people  who  come  to  question  remain 
to  eat,  so  the  Greeks  are  also  securing  a 
thriving  trade.  By  the  way,  the  proprietor's 
name  is  Goudolaris,  and  he  has  domestic 
troubles.  His  wife  comes  down  between 
meals  to  read  him  the  riot  act.  It  isn't  a 
case  of  when  "Greek  meets  Greek"  either, 
because  she  is  Irish  and  when  the  tug  of 
war  comes  it  is  brief,  Goudolaris  falling  an 
easy  victor. 

So  much  for  my  business.  Hereafter  I 
shall  mention  it  but  briefly,  as  I  keep  a 
[21] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

cash  book;  also  a  ledger  containing  a  history 
of  the  cases,  and  you  can  read  them  on  rainy 
days  when  we  sit  by  our  hearthstone.  I 
have  something  of  far  more  interest  to  write 
about,  and  that  is  the  happenings  of  the 
Haphazard  Family.  Through  my  letter 
you'll  come  to  know  them,  I  hope,  and  to 
know  them  is  to  love  them. 

I'll  begin  by  showing  you  over  Mildew 
Manse.  The  house  is  well  back  from  the 
street  and  is  set  in  the  midst  of  fruit  trees, 
bushes,  flower  and  vegetable  gardens  with 
barn  and  playground  at  the  rear. 

I  am  told  that  the  fruit  trees  yield  no 
fruit;  the  vegetable  garden  is  a  lottery,  as 
the  labels  on  the  seeds  are  often  misleading, 
or  maybe  the  little  boys  are  not  careful  in 
putting  up  the  packages,  but  the  Haphazards 
don't  mind  such  trifles.  They  find  pleasure 
in  speculating  as  to  whether  the  peas  will 
come  up  beans  or  something  else. 

What  remains  of  the  barn  is  an  airy  struc- 
ture something  like  a  pergola,  but  that 
doesn't  matter  either,  as  they  have  nothing 
to  keep  in  a  barn  except  stray  cats. 

The  playground  is  all  the  name  implies 
and  brings  "days  of  real  sport"  at  every 
[22] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

season.  There  is  a  swing  suspended  from 
a  precarious  limb  of  a  rotten  oak  by  a  rope 
that  shows  signs  of  giving,  and  you  have 
delightful  thrills  when  you  hear  the  ominous 
squeaking  of  the  limb  and  feel  a  little 
ecstatic  tug  as  one  more  strand  of  the  rope 
ravels.  The  teeter  board  is  over  a  hogs- 
head and  it  revolves  at  the  same  time 
that  it  goes  up  and  down,  something  like 
the  rotary  movements  of  the  earth;  but 
the  little  boys  assure  me  that  the  grass  is 
seldom  cut  in  this  part  of  the  yard  and  it 
doesn't  hurt  much  to  fall.  There  is  also  a 
tottering  fence  to  walk  with  or  without  a 
balancing  pole.  At  present  acquatic  sports 
are  most  in  favor.  The  grounds  are  three 
feet  below  the  level  of  the  street  and  the 
adjacent  gardens,  and  then  the  spring  rains 
have  been  heavy,  so  the  little  Haphazards 
go  about  on  home-made  rafts,  one  of  which 
I  helped  them  to  build.  In  winter  the  yard 
becomes  a  grand  skating  rink;  in  spring,  a 
pond. 

Mildew  Manse  is  very  old,  an  heirloom 
from    bygone    and    more    prosperous    Hap- 
hazards.   When    it    became   the    habitation 
of   the   present   generation   it   was   entirely 
[23] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

colonial  in  style.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wilkie 
Hazard  came  here  bride  and  groom.  At  the 
birth  of  their  first  child  they  mortgaged  and 
enlarged  the  house  and  at  each  succeeding 
addition  to  the  family  there  followed  an 
addition  to  the  house;  also  a  mortgage. 
The  children  number  six,  and  "three  in  the 
churchyard  lie,"  so  you  see  there  are  nine 
annexes,  varied  in  shape,  size,  material  and 
style.  It  is  really  quite  an  exhibition  of 
the  different  eras  of  architecture.  The  mort- 
gages are  also  varied.  There  is  a  first,  a 
second  and  a  blanket  and  I  don't  know 
what  other  brands. 

In  bygone  days  there  was  a  disposition  to 
make  payments  on  these  mortgages,  but  as 
the  family  increased,  the  interest  on  the 
liens  followed  suit  and  has  now  assumed 
alarming  proportions.  The  Haphazards 
cheerfully  explain,  however,  that  it  is  just 
the  same  as  paying  rent.  When  I  hint  at 
a  future  reckoning  —  they  have  taken  me 
unreservedly  into  their  confidence  as  they 
have  into  their  home  —  Mrs.  Haphazard 
philosophically  urges  that  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  a  future.  "You  can't  catch  up  to 
it,"  she  argues.  "It's  an  illusion  —  a  will 
[24] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

•* 
o'  the  wisp  —  the  message  of  the  morrow. 

Why  bother  about  what  never  comes?" 

We'll  now  go  up  the  broad  front  steps 
to  the  main  entrance;  that  is,  the  main  part 
of  the  first  part.  We  can't  ring  the  bell, 
because  there  is  none.  There  used  to  be 
one  of  the  old-fashioned  kind  that  begins 
with  a  door-knob  on  the  outside  and  runs 
the  length  of  the  house  by  a  wire  ending  in 
the  extreme  back  in  a  big  bell.  One  day  a 
collector  pulled  it  so  violently  that  he  and 
the  door-knob  and  a  few  rods  of  wire  landed 
in  a  flower  bed.  A  door-bell  is  not  needed, 
for  there  is  no  lock,  so  we  can  walk  right  in. 
For  the  interior  of  Mildew  Manse  you 
really  need  a  compass  and  a  guide  book  to 
steer  you  straight.  It's  more  complicated 
than  that  Maze  Mark  once  took  us  into  at 
an  Amusement  Park.  There  are  circular 
halls  and  all  sorts  of  connecting  corridors 
between  the  several  additions.  Some  of 
these  links  form  a  cul-de-sac  and  if  you  are 
going  fast,  you  bring  up  short  against  a  wall. 
I  was  a  little  ashamed  at  the  quality  of  my 
bump  of  locality  until  I  heard  a  shouting 
one  day  and  following  it  up  came  across  a 
plumber.  We  were  not  more  than  ten  feet 
[25] 


MILDEW  MANSE 
% 
apart,  yet  we   were  separated   by  an  open 

space  inclosed  by  a  circular  railing. 

"Excuse  me,  lady,"  he  said  shortly,  "but 
I'd  like  to  know  how  I  am  going  to  get  out 
of  this  place!" 

"Why-er-go  down  the  stairs,"  I  suggested, 
and  my  ruling  passion  being  strong,  I  had 
hard  work  not  to  put  out  my  hand  for  a 
quarter. 

"Sure  thing!"  he  replied  grimly.  "If  I 
could  find  the  stairs,  you  bet  you  I'd  go  down 
them.  I  think  they  must  have  taken  them 
away  when  I  come  up  here." 

I  reflected. 

"Turn  to  your  right,"  I  directed,  "and 
go  down  that  dark  passageway  till  you  come 
to  a  small,  unfurnished  room.  Walk  through 
that  room  into  the  main  hall,  and  there 
you'll  find  the  stairs." 

"Thanks,  lady,"  he  said  as  he  turned  to 
the  right  and  vanished.  He  presently  re- 
turned. 

"You  give  me  a  bum  steer,"  he  said 
shortly.  "I  found  the  dark  hall  all  right, 
all  right,  and  one  of  them  Katzen jammer 
kids  had  strung  a  rope  across  it.  I  made 
the  empty  room  you  spoke  of,  but  nothing 
[26] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

doing.  No  stairs;  just  more  rooms.  We 
charge  by  the  time,  you  know." 

This  reminder  hastened  me  to  action. 

"I'll  see  if  I  can  find  some  one,"  I  ex- 
claimed and  hurried  back  whence  I  had 
come,  echoes  of  his  allusions  to  "hellish 
houses"  and  looking  for  "needles  in  hay- 
stacks" pursuing  me  in  my  flight.  I  located 
my  room,  went  down  stairs  and  sent  a  young 
Haphazard  to  the  rescue. 

During  the  winter  months  the  family 
confine  themselves  to  the  original  colonial 
part  of  the  house,  but  as  navigation  opens 
(in  the  yard)  and  the  season  advances  they 
extend  their  territory.  The  first  day  I  was 
there  I  asked  one  of  the  little  boys  if  his 
mother  was  in  the  library.  "The  library," 
he  repeated  vaguely.  "Oh,  you  mean  the 
room  the  books  are  in.  That's  California." 
I  then  learned  that  their  rooms  are  all 
named  geographically  in  accordance  with 
temperature.  Winnipeg  is  never  entered  in 
winter,  but  in  summer  is  a  favorite  sitting- 
room.  An  east  bedroom,  abandoned  in 
summer,  is  The  Needles.  My  pleasantly 
tempered  room  is  Oregon. 

California  is  the  shabbiest,  cosiest,  most 
[27] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

livable  and  lovable  room  you  can  picture. 
The  carpet  is  raveled  and  faded,  but  of 
pleasing  pattern.  The  upholstery  is  thread- 
bare, but  the  chairs  easy.  The  books  in 
old,  open  cases  are  thumb-marked  and  worn 
—  the  titles  tell  you  why.  The  couch  is 
shabby  but  covered  with  comfortable  spreads 
and  real,  not  decorative,  pillows  on  which 
you  are  expected  to  lay  your  head.  The 
small,  square  piano  is  old  and  its  frame 
dilapidated,  but  its  tone  is  still  sweet,  like 
the  voice  of  an  old  gentlewoman.  There  are 
reading  lamps  with  green  shades  —  the  Gas 
Company  shut  off  the  meter  last  month. 
I  have  no  apologies  to  make  for  the  big 
fireplace  with  its  briskly  burning,  backlog 
fire.  All  the  wealth  of  Golconda  could  not 
improve  it. 

And  I  am  one  of  the  "sisters  of  the  Golden 
Circle"  who  occupy  this  charming  California, 
for  I  only  sleep  and  dress  and  write  letters 
in  Oregon. 

Now    for    the    family:     From  Grandma 
Haphazard  aged  eighty  to  the  twins  of  nine 
years,  they  have  one   thing   in   common  - 
a  loyal  love  of  Mildew  Manse. 

Grandma  Haphazard  is  the  real  thing  in 
[28] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

grandmothers.  She  divides  her  time  between 
her  bed  and  a  wheel-chair,  but  she  is  sweet- 
hearted  and  takes  a  lively  interest  in  all  the 
affairs  of  the  day. 

Mr.  Wilkie  Haphazard,  head  of  the  house 

—  or  should  be,  though  I  guess  it  has  none 

—  travels  for  a  thread  firm.     His  commis- 
sions are  not  large,  but  he  says  it  is  better 
to   sell  a  necessity  like  thread  which  hard 
times  cannot  affect  than  to  handle  a  more 
fluctuating  and  luxurious  commodity.   People 
must  sew  in  all  seasons.     He  is  threadbare 
(no  pun  intended)  himself  in  appearance.     I 
cannot  tell  you  much  more  about  him,  be- 
cause he  "went  on  the  road"  the  second  day 
after    I    came.    I    noticed    that    he    has    a 
pleasant  low  voice  and  a  kindly  manner. 

Mrs.  Haphazard  I  shall  not  attempt  to 
describe.  You  must  get  your  description 
from  what  she  does  and  says.  She  is  too 
good  and  unselfish  to  put  in  words. 

Jo,  the  eldest  of  the  "children,"  is  three 
and  twenty,  but  looks  and  seems  older,  yet 
in  some  ways  he  is  only  an  overgrown  boy. 
He  is  thin  and  dark  and  quiet,  though  his 
smile  is  always  ready.  He  doesn't  have  to 
talk.  You  seem  to  know  what  he  would  say. 
[29] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

His  eyes  are  steady,  but  the  lashes  twinkle. 
He  is  the  only  member  of  the  happy-go-lucky 
family  who  has  any  sense  of  responsibility. 
It  isn't  really  an  inherent  trait,  but  I  think 
because  he  is  conscientious  and  feels  that  it  is 
his  duty  to  be  practical,  he  makes  an  effort 
in  that  direction.  He  can  be  very  decided, 
I  find.  For  instance,  I  had  intended  to  put 
in  some  evenings  at  the  Bureau  and  a  part 
of  my  Sundays,  but  Jo  said  nay,  that  the 
tide  must  ebb  in  order  to  flow  and  that  it  was 
as  wrong  to  keep  at  work  perpetually  as  it 
was  to  live  in  continual  idleness.  He  said 
very  little  but  some  way  I  felt  worldly  and 
ashamed  of  my  commercial  instinct.  You 
know  how  determined  opposition  always 
makes  me.  Maybe  you  don't,  either,  be- 
cause you  have  never  opposed  your  spoiled 
darling;  but  Mark  knows.  There  was  some- 
thing about  Jo's  nice,  protective  way  of  tell- 
ing me  I  was  wrong  that  quite  won  and 
weakened  me.  I  heard  a  commanding  bugle- 
call  note  in  his  voice  like  the  one  in  Mark's, 
only  not  so  war  stirring.  You  can  tell  him 
so,  if  you  like. 

I  told  Mrs.  Haphazard  I  was  going  to  do 
as  Jo  said  and  she  replied  earnestly:    "Of 
course  you  will.    Everyone  wants  to  do  as 
[30] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Jo  says.  I  don't  know  why,  but  it  is 
so." 

I  don't  know  why  either,  but  it  is  so. 
Well,  to  sum  up,  Jo  is  a  darling  combina- 
tion of  boy,  gentleman  and  man.  ; 

Next  is  Tippecanoe,  commonly  called  Tip 
or  Tippy.  He  is  twenty-one  in  years,  but 
one  of  the  kind  that  Time  will  always  touch 
with  thistledown  lightness.  He  is  of  a  sweet 
disposition,  quite  irresponsible,  and  out- 
hazards  all  the  Haphazards  in  his  utter  un- 
worldliness.  He  is  in  a  chronic  state  of  either 
getting  or  losing  a  position.  He  does  either 
with  equal  facility.  He  has  an  alert  air  and 
a  pleasing  personality  which  raises  false 
hopes  in  a  new  employer,  for  Tip's  only 
interest  in  work  lies  in  the  landing  of  a  job. 
Then  his  enthusiasm  falls  flat.  When  Jo 
mildly  remonstrates,  his  mother  defends  his 
lack  of  stability,  saying:  "It's  a  good  ex- 
perience for  him.  He  will  be  an  all-round 
man  instead  of  a  specialist." 

"All-round  doesn't  lead  anywhere,"  re- 
plied Jo.  "Tippy  has  never  had  two  pay 
days  in  the  same  place  yet." 

It  doesn't  make  any  perceptible  difference 
in  the  family  exchequer  whether  Tip  works 
[31] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

or  not.  He  spends  all  he  earns  on  clothes, 
and  the  family  are  very  proud  of  their  one 
presentable  member,  whom  they  call  their 
figurehead.  Jo  is  shabby,  but  with  a  neat, 
gentlemanly,  well-brushed  shabbiness. 

After  Tippecanoe,  the  family  grew  allit- 
erative in  their  christenings.  Hally  is  a 
pretty,  soft-eyed  girl  of  eighteen.  She  will 
be  graduated  from  the  High  School  in  June, 
but  is  domestic  in  tendency  and  seems  to 
have  no  idea  of  self-support. 

Then  comes  a  lapse  accounted  for  by  the 
"three  in  the  churchyard  lie."  Grandma 
says  they  were  "disappointments  rather 
than,  losses."  Horace  lived  three  days  Hor- 
tense,  three  hours  and  Huldah,  three 
minutes. 

Haphiram,  aged  ten,  is  a  shrewd,  uncanny 
little  fellow.  He  has  the  smiling  face  of  a 
satyr  with  diabolically  bright  eyes  and  makes 
such  unexpected  answers  to  questions  that 
I  am  learning  to  be  wary  in  asking  him  any. 
I  should  sure  be  up  a  stump  if  he  ever 
applied  at  the  Bureau. 

The  twins,  Hercules  and  Hector,  known  the 
city  over  as  "Herk"  and  "Heck,"  are  nine 
years  old.  They  are  regulation  boys,  "born 
[32] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

with  their  boots  on,"  as  Grandma  Hap- 
hazard says,  but  at  times  Heck  can  be  very 
sweet  and  affectionate. 

There  is  One  Other  who  is  not  as  yet  a 
Haphazard,  but  will  be  one  some  day  if  the 
course  of  true  love  runs  smooth.  "Princess 
Aline,"  they  call  her,  and  she  is  like  your 
idea  of  a  princess;  fair,  slender,  stately  of 
poise  and  with  a  shade  of  pensiveness  in  her 
large  hazel  eyes.  She  is  the  only  child  of 
the  Irvings,  fairly  well-to-do  people  who 
have  always  lived  next  door  neighbor  to  the 
Haphazards,  but  are  their  human  antonyms 
in  every  respect.  I  can  easily  comprehend 
what  a  fairyland  Mildew  Manse  must  have 
seemed  to  the  conventionally  cared-f or  little 
Aline.  She  would  doubtless  have  grown  up 
into  a  prunes-and-prism  sort  of  a  girl  if  it 
had  not  been  for  the  counteracting  influence 
of  the  Haphazard  mode  of  life.  She  is  in 
and  out  the  house  quite  intimately.  They 
all  adore  her,  but  Jo  loves  her.  He  has 
not  yet  told  her  so,  not  in  words  any- 
way, but  she  knows.  His  reticence  in  this 
respect  is  where  one  of  his  bacon  streaks, 
as  Mrs.  Munk  calls  them,  comes  in.  He 
is  no  doubt  waiting  until  he  has  more  to 
[33] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

offer.  He  has  been  in  a  real  estate  office 
for  three  years  and  gets  fifteen  dollars  a 
week. 

When  my  first  Sunday  came  and  Jo  so 
gently  said  I  must  not  go  to  the  Bureau, 
I  went  up  to  Oregon  and  shed  a  few  tears. 
It  seemed  so  good  to  be  with  people  who 
cared  what  I  did  or  didn't  do.  Not  just 
paid  people  like  the  kind  you  left  me  with 
in  Hay  town. 

I  am  up  early  mornings  so  as  not  to  lose 
one  moment  of  the  delightful  breakfast-table 
time.  They  linger  over  their  meals  which  is 
their  time  and  place  for  confidences  and  dis- 
cussions. There  are  no  secret  conferences  in 
the  Haphazard  household.  Everything  is 
said  and  done  in  the  open,  and  all  their 
pleasures  are  shared  in  unison.  I  have  an 
all-time  invitation  for  their  Sunday  night 
luncheons.  There  must  be  a  Dutch  strain 
in  their  ancestry,  for  they  lean  to  a  menu 
of  "one  dish  but  lots  in  it."  We  had 
an  old-fashioned,  blue  tureen  full  of  corn- 
meal  mush  and  a  big  glass  pitcher  of 
milk  last  Sunday  night.  Comfort  comes 
first  at  Mildew  Manse.  There  are  no 
cut  and  dried  disagreeable  rules.  No  in- 
[34] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

evitable  Monday  washday,  and  but  one 
daily,  grand  round-up  of  dishwashing.  No 
petty  cares  or  jealousies  or  wrangles  mar 
the  even  tenor  of  their  ways.  Neither  is 
there  a  meum  and  teum  method  as  to 
possessions.  "Help  yourself,"  is  the  family 
motto. 

They  are  not  a  thrifty  or  a  prosperous 
family,  but  a  very  easy-going,  happy  one, 
with  no  indebtedness  to  external  conditions. 
They  bring  to  the  sordid  cares  and  petty 
ills  of  life  a  touch  of  saving  gayety,  but  the 
day  of  reckoning  which  they  ignore  must 
come,  and  I  wish  I  might  steer  them  away 
from  it.  If  I  could  only  inculcate  in  them 
a  little  thrift,  a  thought  of  preparedness, 
a  bit  of  method  and  system!  I  offered 
them  the  free  services  of  the  Bureau,  but 
they  are  disposed  to  look  on  my  occupa- 
tion as  one  akin  to  fortune-telling,  or  as  a 
joke. 

I  wonder  how  Mark  will  regard  my  venture 
in  business.  He  looked  so  pleased  —  and 
so  did  you,  Father  Lynn  —  when  I  was  de- 
posited in  that  little  Haytown.  I  believe 
you  were  fellow-conspirators;  you  thought 
loneliness  might  turn  to  love.  Well,  I 
[35] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

forgive  you  both,  for  I  am  very  busy  and 
very  happy,  but  looking  forward  to  your 
return. 

Goodnight,  daddy  dear, 

Your  own 
JOAN 


[36] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


April  12th. 
OH,  DADDY  DEAR! 

SO  many  things  have  happened  to  the 
Haphazards  and  to  Little  Jumping  Joan, 
too!  I  will  begin  with  myself.  Of  all  pre- 
posterous things!  Tippecanoe  proposed  to 
me.  Early  in  the  week  he  asked  me  to  go 
to  a  vaudeville  theatre  with  him.  This  was 
the  first  time  I  had  had  occasion  to  dress 
for  any  place  except  the  Bureau  and  Cali- 
fornia, so  in  deference  to  Tippy's  devotion 
to  dress,  I  made  a  toilette  fitting  the  finest 
theatre  in  the  city.  The  look  of  pleased 
approval  as  his  Irish-blue  eyes  ran  the 
gamut  of  my  garments  well  paid  me  for  my 
pains.  He  was  shaved,  shined,  pressed  and 
groomed  to  perfection. 

"They  make  a  fine-looking  couple,"  said 
Grandma  approvingly,  as  we  left  the  house. 

It  was  evident  that  Tippecanoe  thought 
so,  too.  In  fact,  he  was  so  permeated  by  the 
consciousness  of  our  smartness  that  the  silly 
stunts  of  the  performers  shone  in  the  re- 
flected roseate  hue  of  his  enthusiasm,  which 
you  mustn't  think  was  due  to  self-vanity. 
[37] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

It  was  our  combined  harmony  of  fittings  — 
a  perfect  team  work  in  toilettes,  a  two-in- 
oneness  that  appealed  to  him.  This  feeling 
intensified  during  the  hour  and  a  half  that 
we  sat  in  the  theatre  and  by  the  time  we 
had  reached  the  steps  that  led  down  into 
the  Manse  grounds,  it  culminated  in  a 
proposal. 

In  my  surprise  and  confusion,  I  mistook 
Haphiram's  latest  contrivance  in  floating 
rafts  for  the  stationary  board  walk,  and  in 
another  instant  I  had  drifted  beyond  Tip- 
pecanoe's  prospective  embrace.  By  the  time 
I  had  secured  the  steering  pole  that  was 
fortunately  on  board  I  was  too  far  away 
to  shout  back  that  I  could  never  be 
Mrs.  Tippecanoe  even  if  we  were  a  fine- 
looking  couple.  As  I  whirled  swiftly  by 
the  lilac  bush  I  called  to  him  that  I  would, 
perforce,  keep  on  by  the  waterway  to  try 
to  make  a  landing  at  the  steps  to  Winni- 
peg, and  directed  him  to  go  via  overland 
route  to  the  same  place  and  help  me 
ashore. 

We  met  at  the  harbor  of  the  " stoop"  as 
grandma  calls  it,  and  as  soon  as  I  was 
in  dry  dock  Tippy  renewed  his  offer.  It 
[38] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

was  not  until  we  had  left  Winnipeg  that  I 
could  find  words  in  which  to  refuse  him 
coherently.  He  offered  inducements,  saying 
he  would  get  a  steady  job,  and  that  we 
could  have  all  the  rooms  we  wanted  in 
Mildew  Manse.  This  time  I  said  no  very 
negatively,  and  he  grasped  the  fact  that 
he  was  refused  much  more  quickly  and 
graciously  than  Mark  did.  He  was  very 
sweet  and  sorry  about  it  instead  of  being 
offended. 

I  made  a  detour,  bringing  up  at  Oregon 
while  he  went  on  to  California,  for  I  knew 
that  he  would  at  once  confide  in  the  family. 
They  are  so  loyal  and  so  united  that  I  felt 
as  if  in  hurting  one  I  had  hurt  them  all. 
I  sat  in  my  barrel  chair  feeling  like  a 
criminal  awaiting  sentence  and  kept  listen- 
ing for  the  coming  footsteps  of  the  one 
deputized  to  tell  me  that  I  must  leave 
this  beautiful  Mildew  Manse,  for  under  the 
circumstances,  of  course,  it  would  be  very 
uncomfortable  for  Tippecanoe  and  me  to 
meet. 

At  last  I  heard  footsteps  and  by  the  sound 
of  little  heel-clicks  I  knew  that  Hally  was 
the  messenger. 

[89] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

When  I  saw  her,  my  fears  fled.  She  looked 
quite  as  apologetic  as  I  felt. 

"You  mustn't  mind  Tippy,"  she  said 
quickly.  "It  was  horrid  in  him  to  bother 
you  that  wray.  I  never  saw  Jo  so  vexed. 
He  is  afraid  you  won't  wish  to  stay  here  now, 
and  we  all  want  you  to  so  much.  Tippy 
promises  that  if  you  will  only  forget  it,  he'll 
never,  never  do  it  again." 

"Oh,  dear!"  I  said,  smiling  through  my 
tears,  "and  here  I  have  been  worrying  and 
expecting  that  you'd  turn  me  out." 

We  both  laughed,  and  then  she  said  I  was 
to  come  down  and  help  eat  the  corn  the 
boys  had  popped. 

"Wait!"   I   cried,   seizing  a    suggestion  - 
I  mean  an  inspiration  —  for  the  disillusion- 
ing of  Tippy. 

I  exchanged  my  tailor-made  for  a  faded 
house  dress. 

It  worked.  He  looked  foolish  at  first,  but 
in  a  few  moments  was  cheerfully  salting 
corn  and,  I  am  sure,  wondering  how  he  ever 
came  to  think  me  the  half  necessary  for  the 
perfect  whole. 

Under   cover   of   the   noise   made   by   the 
munching  of  many   corn-eaters,  Mrs.   Hap- 
[40] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

hazard  managed  to  whisper  consolingly  to 
me:  "He'll  get  over  it.  He  takes  and  gets 
over  everything  quickly." 

This  was  comforting,  if  not  flattering.  I 
could  not  help  feeling  a  little  flustered. 
After  all,  a  proposal  is  a  proposal  and,  even 
when  it  comes  from  a  Tippecanoe,  is  a 
great  event  in  a  girl's  life.  Aline,  who,  of 
course,  was  present,  drew  me  aside  into 
lower  California,  which  is  right  over  the 
furnace. 

"I  wish,"  she  said  sweetly,  "that  Tippy 
was  older  —  and  different.  It  would  be 
nice  for  you  and  me  to  be  sisters,  I  think." 

I  looked  at  her  keenly,  and  something  in 
her  eyes  told  me  that  she  had  changed  from 
a  princess  into  a  woman  and  a  very  sweet 
one,  too. 

"Oh!"  I  gasped,  "he  has  told  you!" 

"Yes;"  she  said  flushing  happily.  "Jo's 
salary  was  raised  to-day  —  eighteen  dollars 
a  week.  He  is  coming  over  to  ask  father 
in  the  morning." 

I  told  her  how  glad  I  was  —  I  don't  know 
that  I  really  was,  but  I  made  up  my  mind 
I'd  try  to  be  —  and  how  sure  I  had  been 
from  the  very  first  that  they  were  lovers. 
[41] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  replied  artlessly,  "I've 
always  loved  him  ever  since  I  can  remem- 
ber. 'Jo*  was  the  first  word  I  learned  to 
speak." 

"Will  it  be  a  long  engagement?"  I  asked. 

"It  depends  upon  what  father  and  mother 
think,  I  suppose,"  she  said  slowly  with  a 
little  sigh.  "I'd  like  to  be  married  now 
and  come  here  to  live." 

"You  will  live  here?"  I  exclaimed  in 
surprise. 

"Of  course.  I've  always  loved  this  old 
place.  I've  had  all  my  best  times  here. 
No  other  place  could  seem  more  like  home 
to  me.  There  are  plenty  of  rooms  unoccu- 
pied, you  know,  and  then  Jo,  too,  could  not 
bear  to  live  anywhere  else." 

I  smiled,  thinking  of  Tippecanoe's  offer. 

If  the  family  all  feel  that  way  when  they 
marry,  Mildew  Manse  will  become  a  veri- 
table House  of  Haphazards. 

Jo  came  up,  or  rather,  down,  and  took  us 
back  to  the  popcorn  pan. 

I  could  scarcely  sleep  that  night.     Some 

way   what   Tippy    said   made   me   think  of 

Mark  and  his  complaint  to  you  that  I  had 

made  light  of  a  serious  matter.     I  am  be- 

[42] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

ginning  to  understand  how  he  felt  —  just 
as  I  do  about  Tippy's  unconcern.  Then  I 
thought  of  Jo  and  Aline,  especially  of  Jo, 
and  what  a  tender  lover  and  devoted  hus- 
band he  will  make.  If  it  had  been  Jo  who 
proposed  to  me  instead  of  Tippy,  my  heart 
would  have  skipped  a  beat  or  two,  I  am 
sure.  Maybe  it  was  a  good  thing  that  I 
understood  from  the  beginning  that  Jo  was 
spoken  for.  But  I  don't  want  to  marry 
anyone,  daddy  darling.  I  want  to  live  with 
you  in  a  little  house  that  is  really  and  truly 
ours.  I'd  so  love  to  take  root  somewhere. 
I  feel  like  a  traveling  library,  and  I'd  much 
prefer  to  be  shelved  and  labeled. 

I  arose  quite  late  the  next  morning  after 
my  proposal  and  when  I  put  my  head  out 
the  casement  window  for  a  breath  of  the 
soft  spring  air,  I  saw  the  raft.  Haphiram 
names  all  his  watercraft,  and  evidently  this 
last  one  on  which  I  took  my  little  trip  had 
just  been  christened.  Imagine  my  feelings 
when  I  read  from  the  banner  flapping  in 
the  breeze,  "The  Courtship." 

I  was  late  to  breakfast.  So  was  Tippy, 
but  being  jobless,  it  made  no  difference  to 
him.  Jo  was  just  leaving  the  house  with 
[43] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

a  new  little  look  of  grim  determination  about 
his  eyes  and  mouth  —  a  sort  of  buckling 
on  of  armor  look.  I  don't  wonder.  It  must 
have  been  an  ordeal  to  approach  a  regulation 
parent  like  Mr.  Irving. 

I  overtook  Haphiram  lagging  along  to 
school  and  told  him  if  he  would  go  back 
and  take  that  banner  from  the  raft  and 
destroy  it,  I'd  buy  him  a  canoe.  It  was 
wonderful  what  a  little  speedster  he  became. 

"Hap,"  I  called  after  him,  "what  will 
you  name  it?" 

"Tippy.  Tippy  Canoe!"  he  sang  back 
and  we  both  went  our  ways.  Mrs.  Munk's 
third  degree  son  had  paid  me  a  quarter  the 
day  before  to  put  a  sign,  "For  Sale.  A 
Canoe,  cheap,"  in  the  Bureau,  so  I  tele- 
phoned him  to  deliver  the  canoe  to  Mildew 
Manse  and  call  on  me  for  his  pay. 

I  was  kept  busy  that  day.  There  was  a 
convention  of  grocers  in  the  city  and  they 
made  a  run  on  the  Bureau.  Twenty  of 
them  came  into  the  restaurant  for  lunch- 
eon. They  were  a  jolly  lot  of  men,  evi- 
dently hailing  from  smaller  towns,  and  with 
the  air  of  having  "  come-to-town-f or  a  Time." 
They  seemed  mostly  to  be  married  men. 
[44] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

They  soon  spied  the  Bureau  and  me. 

"I  want  a  suggestion,  if  you  please,"  said 
one  of  them  promptly.  He  had  a  round, 
rugged,  tight-skinned  face  of  dusky  red  that 
made  me  think  of  a  winter  apple. 

"What  do  you  want  a  suggestion  about?" 
I  asked. 

"Any  little  suggestion,"  he  replied.  "I 
leave  it  to  you." 

"You  are  a  stranger  in  the  city,  I  judge," 
I  remarked  gravely. 

'Spotted   you   for   sure,   Jeff!"    chuckled 
one  of  the  group. 

"You  will  probably  want  to  take  in  a  good 
show  to-night.  Let  me  recommend  the  best 
one  to  you." 

This  was  "just  what  he  wanted,"  and  I 
knew  intuitively  which  one  he  would  find 
the  most  entertaining. 

Realizing  that  I  had  legitimate  informa- 
tion up  my  sleeve,  the  other  nineteen  grocers 
clamored  for  suggestions  as  to  presents  for 
their  wives,  what  shops  to  patronize  and 
what  sights  to  see.  Some  of  them  were 
facetious  and  asked  all  sorts  of  foolish  ques- 
tions, but  I  took  them  all  seriously  and 
made  five  dollars.  Hooray!  It  will  put  a 
[45] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

plank  in  the  house  that  Joan  is  going  to 
build. 

One  young  grocer  asked  me  what  kind  of 
belts  were  stylish  as  he  wanted  to  buy  one 
for  his  girl.  When  I  recommended  a  certain 
kind,  he  said:  "Dear  me!  I  don't  know 
what  size  she  wears.  Could  you  let  me  take 
the  measure  of  your  waist?" 

"It  won't  be  necessary,"  I  assured  him. 
"Just  take  the  measure  of  your  arm." 

This  put  them  all  in  a  still  better  humor, 
and  they  departed,  telling  the  belt  man 
he'd  have  to  set  them  up  for  the  crowd. 

I  can  just  see  Mark's  face  when  you  read 
him  this  bit.  For  you  always  have  read 
him  parts  of  my  letters,  Daddy  Lynn.  He 
admitted  it  to  me  once.  Mark  has  the 
usual  masculine  idea  about  a  woman's  place 
being  in  the  home,  but  when  she  hasn't  any 
home,  what  is  she  to  do?  She  has  to  have 
something,  you  know,  and  I  am  really  quite 
proud  of  my  little  Bureau  and  very  much 
attached  to  it.  I  wouldn't  have  written 
you  all  about  it  if  I  hadn't  known  my  let- 
ters were  not  to  reach  you  until  August  and 
at  a  place  too  far  away  for  you  to  return. 
If  you  had  known  when  you  were  in  Seattle 
[46] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

or  even  when  you  were  at  some  of  your 
first  stopping- off  places  in  Alaska,  I  fear 
one  or  both  of  you  would  have  come  back 
with  designs  upon  the  Bureau. 

I  left  the  restaurant  very  early  that  after- 
noon without  waiting  for  dinner,  I  was  so 
anxious  to  know  how  Jo's  suit  had  prospered. 

In  front  of  a  theatre  I  came  upon  Tippy 
gazing  yearningly  at  a  full  length  picture  of 
an  actor.  I  knew  his  longing  was  not  for 
the  fame  or  for  the  fortune  of  the  actor, 
but  for  the  evening  clothes  in  which  he  was 
portrayed.  Poor  Tippy!  If  I  could  have 
a  fairy  wand  waved  over  me  for  three  wishes 
they  would  be  as  follows:  A  little  house  for 
you  and  me,  the  mortgage  lifted  from  Mil- 
dew Manse  and  a  full-dress  suit  for  Tippy. 

He  joined  me  and  we  walked  on  together. 
I  felt  years  older  than  he  and  I  began  to 
give  him  some  good  advice  about  looking 
for  a  position. 

"I  have  one,"  he  announced  cheerfully. 
"I  am  going  to  sell  gravestones  on  commis- 
sion." 

It  seemed  very  characteristic  of  a  Hap- 
hazard that  he  could  find  pleasure  hi  the 
thought  of  so  gruesome  a  pursuit. 
[47] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"The  Tippy  Canoe  has  been  launched," 
he  told  me,  "and  the  yard  was  full  of  boys 
when  I  left.  They  were  taking  turns  pad- 
dling about.  Haphiram  told  me  how  you 
came  to  give  it  to  him." 

His  eyes  were  dancing  at  the  recollection. 
I  see  his  mother  was  right  about  his  getting 
over  things  quickly. 

"The  canoe's  name  fits  all  right,"  he 
continued.  "She's  tipped  over  most  every 
trip.  It's  the  first  time  Hap  ever  had  any- 
thing that  wasn't  home-made,  and  he's  as 
proud  as  a  peacock." 

"I  must  stop  and  get  Herk  and  Heck 
something,"  I  exclaimed.  "It  isn't  fair  to 
leave  them  out." 

"They  aren't  left  out,"  he  said.  "Hap 
will  let  them  take  the  canoe  as  often  as  he 
does.  They  have  all  their  things  in  com- 
mon." 

I  stopped  at  a  toy  store,  however,  and 
bought  three  Indian  suits  and  three  bows 
and  arrows.  When  we  reached  home  the 
yard  was  afloat  with  boys  and  Hap  seemed 
to  be  the  only  one  who  had  escaped  a  duck- 
ing. I  delivered  my  packages  and  we  went 
on  into  the  house. 

[48] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

I  knew  by  the  kind  of  cheerfulness  per- 
vading, like  sun  bursting  through  clouds,  or 
smiles  through  tears,  that  Jo's  altar-path 
was  blockaded. 

He  had  confided  in  his  mother  and  asked 
her  to  tell  us  all  except  the  three  youngest 
members  of  the  family,  though  I  imagine 
Haphiram  with  his  sure  sixth  sense  has 
divined  it.  I  had  a  glimpse  of  Jo  as  he  went 
upstairs.  He  looked  very  much  as  you  used 
to  when  stocks  took  an  unexpected  turn. 
His  head  was  up,  and  an  odd  little  smile 
was  trying  to  deny  the  disappointment  in 
his  eyes.  I  do  love  a  game  loser — like  you 
have  always  been. 

Mr.  Irving  had  been  primed  with  objections. 
He  asked  Jo  the  first  thing  what  he  had  to 
offer.  Jo  admitted  that  he  was  shy  on 
worldly  possessions,  but  casually  mentioned 
a  few  incidentals  like  youth,  health,  good 
habits  and  an  ardent  love  for  Aline.  Mr. 
Irving  maintained  that  these  essential  requi- 
sites must  be  backed  up  by  an  income  suffi- 
cient to  maintain  a  family  and  household. 

Jo  then  proudly  stated  that  he  had  the 
munificent  salary  of  eighteen  dollars  per  week 
and  that  he  expected  it  to  increase.  His 
[49] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

father-in-law  elect  insisted  that  "eighteen 
per"  wouldn't  run  a  house.  Jo's  reply  to 
this  rebuff  was  that  Aline  would  live  no- 
where but  at  Mildew  Manse.  They  could 
have  their  choice  of  rooms  and  furniture. 

Mr.  Irving  allowed  that  a  home  and 
"eighteen  per"  would  not  be  exactly  pov- 
erty, but  the  many  mortgages  of  Mildew 
Manse  might  any  day  take  it  from  them 
and  that  Jo  would  have  to  help  take  care  of 
the  family  instead  of  marrying.  Jo  argued 
that  Tippecanoe  was  self-supporting;  that 
Hally  would  soon  be  providing  for  herself 
(I  wonder  how!);  that  his  father  was  good 
for  at  least  ten  years  more  on  the  road  and 
by  that  time  the  little  boys  would  be  wage 
earners.  This  was  some  considerable  look- 
ahead  for  a  Haphazard,  but  did  not  con- 
vince Mr.  Irving,  who  said  that  under  the 
circumstances,  he  could  not  give  his  consent. 

Jo  was  undaunted  and  asked  under  what 
circumstances  he  might  hope  to  win  his  suit. 
Mr.  Irving  named  two  conditions:  first, 
that  Mildew  Manse  must  be  cleared  entirely 
of  mortgages;  second,  that  Jo  must  be 
earning  a  salary  of  at  least  twenty-five 
dollars  a  week.  These  were  two  most  ap- 
[50] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

palling  obstacles.  It  would  be  at  least  five 
years  before  Jo  could  expect  such  a  magnif- 
icent salary,  and  as  for  lifting  the  mortgage 
nothing  short  of  a  miracle  could  do  that. 

Jo  had  come  home  crushed  by  the  moun- 
tain of  mortgages  on  his  shoulders,  and  with 
his  moneymoon  as  far  away  as  if  he  were 
looking  through  the  wrong  end  of  a  spy- 
glass, but  Aline  had  come  over  to  tell  him 
she  would  wait  a  lifetime  for  him. 

They  made  me  stay  to  their  night  meal 
(I  haven't  discovered  yet  whether  it  is  din- 
ner or  supper)  and  by  the  time  we  had 
gathered  around  the  table,  they  were  again 
almost  normal  in  cheerfulness.  As  I  went 
into  South  Dakota,  the  dining-room,  I 
looked  out  the  window  and  saw  a  small 
army  of  boys  trooping  home  to  suppers  and 
scoldings,  for  they  were  all  soaked  and  many 
of  them  bore  arrow  wounds.  I  had  my 
doubts  as  to  whether  I  had  chosen  wisely 
in  making  my  gifts.  I  didn't  care  whether 
I  had  or  not  when  Haphiram,  Heck  and  Herk 
came  in.  They  wore  a  look  of  shining  hap- 
piness never  seen  in  the  countenances  of  the 
race  whose  costumes  they  were  wearing. 

"We  are  going  to  have  a  play  tomorrow 
[51] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

afternoon,"  he  said.  "You  can  be  Poca- 
hontas." 

By  bedtime  the  family  were  positively 
radiant  in  their  horoscope  of  hope.  When 
Jo's  employer  returned  from  a  business  trip, 
he  was  to  be  informed  of  the  situation,  and 
it  was  more  than  probable  that  he  would 
raise  Jo's  salary  to  twenty  dollars,  and  most 
likely  Mr.  Irving  would  throw  off  a  paltry 
five.  As  for  the  mortgage,  something  was 
quite  likely  to  happen.  Perhaps  they  could 
sell  some  of  the  land. 

I  couldn't  share  this  optimism  and  I  went 
to  bed  feeling  very  sorry  for  the  young 
lovers  and  so  interested  in  their  fate  that  I 
had  no  more  foolish  raptures  about  Jo. 

Marriage  is  certainly  needles  and  pins  and 
makes  more  trouble  and  heart-aches  than 
anything  else  in  the  world.  Me  for  a  snug 
little  nest  with  you,  daddy.  How  sensible 
Elisabeth  was  to  remain  in  her  summer 
garden  existence. 

Tomorrow  night  I  am  to  meet  the  very 
particular  friend  of  the  Haphazards.  He 
has  been  out  of  town  ever  since  I  came  here. 
His  name  is  Barry  Walters  and  he  is  two 
years  older  than  Jo.  He  owns  any  amount 
[52] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

of  property  left  him  by  his  father,  but  he  is 
not  idle.  He  is  one  of  the  rising  young 
manufacturers  of  the  city.  I  am  quite  cu- 
rious to  see  him,  for  his  name  is  a  household 
word.  Mrs.  Haphazard  speaks  of  him  very 
tenderly  just  as  if  he  were  her  son.  Grand- 
ma's face  lights  up  whenever  he  is  mentioned. 
As  for  Jo,  he  and  this  Barry  are  a  second 
David  and  Jonathan.  Hally  has  a  far- 
away look  when  she  speaks  of  him.  Tippe- 
canoe  says  he  is  a  good  dresser,  and  what 
higher  praise  could  Tippy  sing?  To  the 
young  Haphazard  hopefuls  he  is  an  oracle. 

I  am  also  anxious  to  meet  him  to  learn  if 
by  chance  he  is  a  relative  of  that  Phil 
Walters  who  was  a  college  chum  of  Mark's 
—  the  one  who  went  hunting  with  him  last 
fall.  Something  always  prevented  Mark's 
bringing  him  to  visit  us,  and  when  I  went 
to  the  hop  at  college  that  time,  this ,  young 
Walters  was  away. 

It  is  very  late  and  I  will  say  good-night. 
Your  letter  forwarded  from  the  hamlet  say- 
ing you  were  about  to  sail  made  me  lone- 
some, but  I  must  learn  to  be  hopeful  and 
cheerful  like  the  Haphazards. 

Your  own  JOAN. 

[53] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


April  14th. 
FATHER-DEAR: 

PHIL  WALTERS  is  the  Haphazards' 
•*•  Barry  Walters.  His  whole  name  is 
Barry  Phillips  Walters,  shortened  at  college 
to  "Phil."  He  called  last  night,  and  in 
spite  of  the  risk  I  ran  of  giving  Tippecanoe 
a  relapse,  I  made  myself  as  presentable  as 
my  wardrobe  permitted.  When  I  came  into 
California,  Mr.  Walters  looked  at  me  curi- 
ously and  before  we  were  introduced,  he 
asked:  "Aren't  you  Joan  Lynn?"  I  told 
him  I  was.  "Little  Jumping  Joan,"  he  then 
said  with  a  smile. 

"Then  you  are  Phil  Walters!"  I  ex- 
claimed, "and  it  was  Mark  who  told  you." 

"You  are  a  good  guesser.  We've  come 
near  meeting  so  many  times  that  we  ought 
to  be  warm  friends." 

"Do  you  know  Mark  Shelby?"  chorused 
the  Haphazards  excitedly. 

"Do  you?"    I  asked  in  surprise. 

"Only  by  name,"  explained  Jo,  "but  we've 
[54] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

heard  Barry  speak  of  him  so  often  we  feel 
as  if  we  knew  him." 

"You  haven't  ever  spoken  of  him,"  re- 
minded Haphiram,  giving  me  one  of  his 
gimlet  glances  which  are  so  disconcerting. 

"You  know,"  I  defended  myself.  "I 
told  you  father  had  gone  to  Alaska  with  a 
friend.  Mark  Shelby  is  the  friend." 

I  don't  know  whether  it  was  the  general 
surprise  or  the  twinkle  in  Barry  Walters' 
eyes,  or  a  combination  of  both  that  made 
me  blush  most  furiously. 

"Oh-oh!"  came  in  enlightened  tones  from 
Tippecanoe,  "That  is  why  you  wouldn't 
marry  me!" 

"Nothing  of  the  sort!"  I  exclaimed  grow- 
ing redder  and  angrier,  as  I  saw  the  amuse- 
ment at  Tip's  foolish  confession  flashing  into 
Barry's  eyes. 

I  hastened  to  explain. 

"You  see  Mark  Shelby  and  I  were  brought 
up  together  from  the  time  he  was  ten  and  I 
was  five  —  just  like  brother  and  sister  —  as 
Jo  and  Aline  were." 

"But,"  persisted  that  wretched  Haphi- 
ram, "Jo  and  Aline  have  never  been  like 
brother  and  sister.  They're  lovers." 


MILDEW  MANSE 

His  remark  fortunately  diverted  attention 
from  me  for  a  while  for  a  laugh  on  Jo  and 
Aline,  and  I  had  time  to  collect  myself. 

I  had  an  instant  liking  for  Barry  Walters 
and  I  wasn't  going  to  have  our  friendship 
start  with  any  wrong  impressions.  He  is 
a  squarely-built,  nice-looking  chap  with 
flashing,  white  teeth,  fun-loving  eyes  and 
thick  brown  hair.  He  seems  substantial 
and  wholesome,  a  sort  of  big-brother 
man. 

"Well,"  I  supplemented,  "like  Tippy  and 
Aline  then." 

"Tell  us  all  about  him,"  urged  Aline,  who 
loves  narratives,  "did  you  live  next  door  to 
each  other  like  Jo  and  I?" 

"Nearer  than  that,"  I  replied.  "His 
parents  died  when  he  was  ten  years  old,  and 
father  was  appointed  his  guardian.  We  had 
no  fixed  home,  so  Mark  went  to  a  boarding- 
school  and  afterwards  to  college,  but  no 
matter  where  we  might  be  located,  when 
vacation  time  came  he  always  joined  us. 
He  spent  the  last  three  years  abroad.  I 
fear  he  got  the  wandering  habit  from  us. 
When  father  went  to  Alaska,  Mark  was 
quite  keen  to  go  with  him." 
[56] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"I  had  a  letter  from  him  from  Seattle," 
said  Barry  looking  at  me  significantly,  and 
I  felt  sure  that  Mark  had  told  him  every- 
thing. They  must  be  friends  for  sure.  I 
believe  men  tell  each  other  things  just  as 
girls  do. 

"But  how  did  you  come  to  locate  here  in 
this  city?"  asked  Barry. 

I  told  him  about  the  Bureau,  and  it  made 
me  a  little  tired  to  see  that  he  didn't  regard 
my  business  with  the  respect  its  success  de- 
inands.  I  am  a  little  touchy  about  the  way 
some  people  look  at  the  Bureau,  as  if  it 
were  a  joke.  I  immediately  proceeded  to 
give  him  the  figures  of  profit  to  date.  Sta- 
tistics always  appeal  to  a  Business  man, 
and  Barry  instantly  changed  his  views. 

"It's  a  clever,  ingenious  idea,"  he  ad- 
mitted, "and  I  shall  be  glad  to  know  the 
Christian  names  of  the  'extras'  when  I 
drop  in  for  a  quick  lunch  at  the  Greek's. 
But  I  am  rather  curious  to  know  what  your 
father  and  Mark  think  of  your  business 
venture." 

"I  don't  correspond  with  Mark,"  I  in- 
formed him,  "and  father  won't  know  about 
it  until  he  reaches  Nome  some  time  in  Au- 
[57] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

gust,  so  please  don't  mention  it   when  you 
write." 

"Mark  hasn't  given  me  an  address  as  yet. 
But  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  can't 
get  a  communication  to  your  father  before 
August?  Suppose  you  should  be  ill?" 

"He  has  given  me  the  headquarters  ad- 
dress of  the  Gold-Dredging  Company.  They 
have  his  itinerary  and  can  wire  or  send  a 
letter  at  any  time,  but  I  shall  only  send  a 
message  through  them  in  case  of  an  emer- 
gency." 

Later  in  the  evening  there  was  a  tem- 
porary dispersing  of  the  Haphazards. 
Grandma  and  the  three  little  boys  said 
good-night.  Mrs.  Haphazard  remembered 
some  needed  repairs  to  the  children's  clothes 
and  went  to  the  room  where  the  sewing- 
machine  chanced  to  be.  Jo  and  Aline 
wandered  down  cellar  in  search  of  apples. 
Hally  and  Tippy,  who  sings  in  a  light 
pleasing  tenor,  withdrew  to  the  piano,  in 
an  alcove,  so  I  was  left  alone  with  Barry 
in  a  remote  part  of  Northern  California. 

"Mr  Walters,"  I  began. 

"Why  not  call  me  Phil,  since  Mark  does?" 
he  asked  quickly. 

[58] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"I  think,"  I  replied  pointedly,  "I  would 
rather  call  you  Barry  since  the  Haphazards 
do." 

"I  am  so  glad,"  he  said,  "for  your  sake 
and  their  sake  and  my  sake,  that  you 
have  come  into  this  family.  It  is  home 
to  me  and  I  love  them  —  every  one  of 
them." 

"Then  why  don't  you  help  them  to  a 
different  scheme  of  life  and  try  to  make 
them  more  prosperous?" 

"But  they  don't  want  to  be  more  pros- 
perous," he  replied  whimsically.  "They  are 
happy  as  they  are.  Why  give  them  ambi- 
tions and  worldly  desires  and  make  them 
like  every  one  else?  It's  their  simplicity, 
their  fresh  viewpoint  of  life  that  gives 
them  and  this  place  the  charm  it  has. 
Would  you  like  Mildew  Manse  if  it  were 
modernized  and  furnished  any  differently? 

"But  you  know  perfectly  well  that  unless 
they  acquire  more  thrift  and  earn  more 
money  Mildew  Manse  will  go  to  others. 
There  is  a  crisis  right  now." 

And  as  I  knew  he  was  entirely  in  their 
confidence  I  told  him  about  Jo  and  Aline 
and  the  edict  of  Mr.  Irving. 
[59] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

I  loved  the  look  of  interest  and  concern 
that  softened  his  merry  eyes. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "Something  should  be 
done  for  Jo.  He's  worth  more  than  the 
salary  he's  getting.  I  could,  of  course,  give 
him  a  good  office  position,  but  Jo  wouldn't 
be  confined  to  a  desk  and  four  walls  for  a 
fortune.  He's  a  good  real  estate  man,  and 
people  have  far  more  confidence  in  what  he 
says  than  they  have  in  the  representations 
of  old  Rackney." 

Old  Rackney  is  Jo's  employer. 

"Then  I  should  think  he'd  do  well  in  a 
real  estate  office  of  his  own." 

"No;  nothing  doing,"  he  said  emphatic- 
ally. "I  know  dear  old  Jo.  Although  he 
hasn't  any  personal  ambition,  yet  he  is  so 
conscientious  that  he  works  faithfully  in  the 
interests  of  his  employer;  but  if  he  were  in 
business  for  himself,  he'd  be  gazing  up  at  the 
sky  through  tree  tops  instead  of  trying  to 
sell  lots." 

"But  maybe  now  that  he  has  Aline  as  an 
incentive,  he'll  be  more  ambitious." 

"That's  true,"  he  said  thoughtfully. 
Then,  looking  at  me  intently,  he  said: 
"Such  an  incentive  makes  all  the  difference 
[60] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

in  the  world  with  men  —  most  men.  Take 
Mark:  the  woman  who  loves  him  will  have 
it  in  her  power  to  bring  out  the  best  in 
him." 

"Then  I  wish  he'd  hurry  up  and  find  her," 
I  told  him,  "for  Mark  has  no  aim  in  life 
beyond  having  a  good  time." 

"Joan,"  he  replied  gravely,  "you  don't 
quite  understand  Mark — " 

"Oh,  yes  I  do,  and  don't  think  for  a  mo- 
ment," I  said,  "that  I  am  not  fond  of  him. 
But  after  he  left  college  and  just  went 
pleasuring  along,  I  was  disappointed  in  him. 
Why  shouldn't  he  have  a  business,  as  you  do, 
even  if  he  has  lots  of  money?  He  went 
hunting  with  you  in  the  fall  —  off  to  Can- 
ada in  the  winter  —  back  here  the  last  of 
February  —  and  — " 

"And,"  he  finished,  "when  he  found  he 
couldn't  have  the  one  great  thing  in  life  he 
wanted,  he  went  to  Alaska.  He  wrote  me 
about  it." 

"That  wasn't  why  he  went  to  Alaska, 
though.  He  went  because  he  had  a  'hunch' 
that  father  wouldn't  make  the  gold  dredger 
a  go,  and  he  thought  he  ought  to  have  some 
friend  near  when  disappointment  came.  It 
[61] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

was  the  nicest  thing  I  ever  knew  Mark  to 
do,  and  I  appreciate  it.  He  is  the  soul  of 
generosity,  but  he  is  selfish.  He's  been  just 
like  a  son  —  no,  a  young  brother  —  to  fa- 
ther, and  we  three  could  have  such  good 
times  if  he  hadn't  gone  and  spoiled  it  all. 
He's  grouchy  because  I  wouldn't  marry  him 
and  he  refuses  to  go  back  to  our  comfortable 
brother  and  sister  days." 

"Mark  never  had  a  brotherly  feeling  for 
you.  The  first  year  we  were  in  college  he 
showed  me  your  pictures  and  said  that, 
from  the  day  he  first  saw  you,  he  thought  of 
you  as  his  sweetheart." 

I  was  surprised  at  this. 

"I  can't  imagine  Mark's  Saying  anything 
so  sentimental  as  that,"  I  exclaimed. 

"And  last  fall,"  he  continued,  "Mark 
told  me  he  had  traveled  these  last  three 
years  waiting  for  you  to  grow  up,  and  also 
because  he  hoped  that  after  a  return  from 
so  long  an  absence,  you'd  get  rid  of  that 
brother  and  sister  idea.  He  found,  how- 
ever, that  you  still  clung  to  it,  so  in  despair 
he  went  to  Canada.  Couldn't  stand  it 
there,  came  back  to  propose  to  you — " 

I  interrupted  him. 

[62] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"Wait!"  I  cried  laughing.  "I've  heard 
Mark  work  himself  to  such  flights  once  or 
twice  before.  The  fact  is,  that  all  his  life 
he  has  never  been  denied  a  desire.  He  has 
had  everything  he  wanted,  so  he  was  con- 
fident I  would  say  *yes-'  I  didn't  and  he 
was  peeved  and  went  away  angry  with  me. 
It  was  good  for  him  to  find  out  that  there 
was  at  least  one  thing  that  could  not  be  his 
for  the  asking." 

"All's  well  that  ends  well,"  quoth  Barry. 

"This  is  ended  —  for  me." 

"Are  you  sure?"  he  asked  a  little  breath- 
lessly. 

I  read  something  in  his  eyes  as  they  held 
mine;  that  if  by  chance  he  should  come  to 
care  for  me,  loyalty  to  an  absent  friend 
would  never  let  him  reveal  that  fact. 

I  do  wish  Mark  hadn't  been  quite  so  con- 
fiding. Not  that  I  am  in  love  with  Barry 
Walters.  I  am  not  so  susceptible  as  that. 
In  traveling  about  with  you  so  much,  I've 
met  a  good  many  young  men,  and  as  they 
pass  in  mental  review  before  me,  I  can  se- 
lect but  three  who  at  all  attract  me.  Mark, 
Jo  and  this  Barry  Walters,  and  yet  I  am 
not  in  love  with  any  one  of  them.  Mark  is 
[63] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

the  typical  elder  brother;  generous,  bossy, 
grumbling  when  demands  are  made  on  him, 
yet  in  the  end,  yielding  and  ready  to  back 
you  up  or  fight  for  you,  if  needed.  Jo,  the 
ideal  lover;  tender,  loyal,  unselfish,  devoted. 
Barry,  the  comfortable  husband;  protective, 
practical,  broad-minded,  companionable;  but 
if  I  ever  have  a  husband,  I  want  one  who  is 
the  ideal  brother,  lover  and  husband  com- 
bined. Don't  want  much,  say  you?  Yes; 
I  do.  Maybe  there  isn't  such  a  combina- 
tion in  the  land  of  the  living.  Then  I'll 
have  none. 

I  am  writing  all  this  to  you,  daddy,  dear, 
because  I  want  to  get  it  straightened  out 
with  myself.  I  hadn't  thrashed  the  Mark 
matter  thoroughly  since  he  asked  me  to 
marry  him  and  there  wasn't  time  or  op- 
portunity to  explain  to  you  how  I  felt  about 
him.  I  knew  you  were  disappointed  and  I 
saw  that  it  was  what  you  had  always  hoped 
for,  but  you  want  your  Little  Jumping  Joan 
to  look  before  she  leaps,  don't  you,  and  then 
besides,  /  don't  love  Mark. 

At  first  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you  why  he 
went  to  Alaska  with  you,  but  by  the  time 
you  read  this,  you  will  know  whether  the 
[64] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

dredger  is  a  go  or  not,  so  it  makes  no  dif- 
ference. 

But  back  to  the  main  track  where  I 
switched  off  to  give  a  dissertation  on  suitors. 

"Yes,"  I  said  to  Barry.  "I  know  it  is 
ended." 

He  looked  *  half  exultant  and  half  sad. 
Then — the  Haphazards  came  back.  Mother, 
from  the  machine;  Jo  and  Aline  from  the 
cellar  where  they  found  no  apples,  the  boys 
having  distributed  them  all  to  the  Marine 
Corps  that  afternoon.  Tippy  ceased  sing- 
ing and  asked  Hally  to  play  for  us  to 
dance. 

Tippecanoe  is  a  divine  dancer,  and  there 
is  a  long  hall  with  a  smooth  floor  lead- 
ing from  California.  Jo  and  Aline,  Tippy 
and  I  danced  while  Mrs.  Haphazard  and 
Barry  sat  in  the  doorway  and  watched 
us.  Finally  Mrs.  Haphazard  pulled  Tippy 
away  from  me  and  said  it  was  Barry's 
turn. 

Tippecanoe  may  be  the  poetry  of  motion 
and  the  most  graceful  partner  I  ever  had, 
but  Barry  —  well !  I  felt  as  if  I  had  lost 
all  sense  of  volition  and  was  willing  to  go 
wheresoever  he  listeth.  I  had  the  sensation 
[65] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

of  being  up  in  an  aeroplane  without  any 
fear  of  danger,  only  an  overwhelming  desire 
to  go  higher  and  higher.  I  can  outdance 
the  daughters  of  Shiloh,  Barry  says,  so  if 
the  Bureau  fails,  here  will  be  my  field. 

Jo  dances  in  a  dreamy,  drifting  way  that 
is  very  pleasant,  but  belongs  to  the  old-time 
waltz.  I  wonder  how  Mark  would  dance  if 
he  should  ever  consent  to  learn.  I  can  see 
him  now  as  he  used  to  sit,  scowling  and 
sulking,  against  the  wall  at  dancing  school. 
Do  you  know  it's  odd,  but  one  of  the  things 
I  think  I  like  best  in  Mark  is  that  he 
wouldn't  learn  to  dance. 

I  wish  Barry  were  poor;  then  we  could 
open  a  school  of  the  dance  and  emulate 
the  Castles.  I  had  just  reached  this  point 
when  the  music  stopped.  Why  do  music 
and  pleasant  things  always  stop  suddenly 
at  the  very  topnotch  of  enjoyment? 

I  looked  up  at  Barry.  I  was  thinking 
only  of  how  perfectly  we  danced  together, 
but  he  —  well,  I  saw  in  the  way  he  nar- 
rowed his  eyes  and  set  his  shoulders  that  he 
wasn't  going  to  forget  that  Mark  cared  for 
me.  I  am  tempted  to  try  to  overcome  that 
resolve. 

[66] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

At  that  moment  I  turned  and  saw  Hally 
standing  in  the  doorway  watching  us. 

"I  only  wanted  to  rest  my  hands  a  min- 
ute," she  said  in  defense. 

"I'll  rest  my  feet  while  you  are  resting 
your  hands,"  I  said.  "I'll  play  for  you 
and  Barry  to  dance." 

So  I  went  to  the  piano  and  played  until 
all  but  Tippy  were  too  tired  to  dance  any 
longer.  If  there  were  only  a  Victrola  there 
would  be  just  three  couples  and  no  one  left 
out.  But  there  won't  be  one.  There  are 
so  many  things  wanted  that  the  Haphazards 
say  it's  no  use  getting  anything. 

"Won't  you  sing?"  Barry  asked  me. 
"Mark  told  me  you  had  the  true  contralto 
voice." 

"And  you  never  told  us,"  said  Jo 
reproachfully. 

I  sang  two  or  three  songs  and  then,  oh 
my  dear!  Mrs.  Haphazard  asked  me  if  I 
knew  "Backward,  turn  Backward,  oh  Time, 
in  your  flight." 

"It's  very  old,"  she  said  apologetically. 

I  told  her  that  it  was  your  song  —  the 
one  I  always  sang  for  you  just  before  we 
said  good-night. 

[67] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

I  began  it  without  the  slightest  warning 
of  what  was  going  to  happen.  I  didn't  get 
very  far.  I  felt  my  voice  shaking,  tried  to 
swallow  a  sob,  and  then  down  went  my 
head  on  the  music  rack  and  I  had  the 
weeps  —  hard.  And  yet  I  didn't  shed  a 
tear  when  we  parted,  did  I  daddy? 

Well,  they  all  came  to  the  piano,  sorry  and 
scared,  I  guess.  The  Haphazards  never  cry; 
not  even  the  little  boys. 

Jo  begged  me  to  stop.  Barry  asked  if  I 
didn't  want  some  water.  Tippy  told  his 
mother  to  make  some  tea.  Hally  suggested 
camphor,  but  it  was  Aline,  little  Aline,  who 
sat  down  on  the  bench  beside  me  and  put 
her  arm  about  me  and  told  them  all  com- 
mandingly  to  go  way  back  —  to  lower  Cali- 
fornia —  and  sit  down. 

"Don't  stop,"  she  whispered,  for  I  was 
trying  with  all  my  might  to  brace  up.  "A 
cry  is  a  good  clearing  house." 

But  I  did  stop.  She  was  very  sweet  and 
sympathetic.  I  don't  wonder  Jo  worships  her. 

When   I   was   quite   normal   again,   I   was 

awfully  ashamed  of  my  breakdown.     I  hate 

making     a     sensation,     and     just    when     I 

wanted  to  make  a  good  impression  on  Barry! 

[68] 


Down  went  my  head  on  the  music  rack  and   I   had  the 
weeps — hard.     Page  68. 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"Aline,"  I  said  suddenly,  "you  can  surely 
tell  me  —  how  is  a  girl  to  know  when  she 
is  in  love?" 

"Oh!"  she  cried  with  a  little  gasp.  "You 
can't  mistake  it,  Joan.  You'll  know  it  the 
same  way  you  know  when  you  like  music." 

"When  your  backbone  gets  the  tremolo?" 
I  asked,  interested. 

"Exactly,"  she  replied.  "He  may  be  a 
different  man  from  anyone  you  thought 
you'd  fancy.  You  may  not  agree  with  him 
on  any  subject,  but  if  you  have  the  little 
thrill  when  he  speaks,  or  you  feel  there  is 
nothing  in  the  world  you  wouldn't  do  for 
him,  and  that  the  more  you  had  to  give  up 
for  him,  the  more  you  would  love  him  — 
then  he  is  the  man." 

"Is  this  the  way  you  feel  towards  Jo? 
Then  you  must  indeed  love  him." 

"I  love  him  so  much,"  she  said,  her  eyes 
dilating,  "that  if  he  lost  his  position,  his 
home  and  everything,  I'd  be  glad,  because 
then  I  would  be  so  much  the  more  to  him 
and  try  to  make  up  for  all  he  had  lost." 

I  was  relieved.  I  knew  then  I  wasn't 
the  least  in  love  with  anyone.  I  never  had 
a  thrill  like  that  for  Mark  or  Jo  or  Barry, 
[69] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

and  I  would  never  marry  one  of  them  if 
he  should  lose  all  he  had.  I'd  love  you  all 
the  harder,  though,  daddy,  if  you  lost  your 
all. 

"Let's  go  to  them,"  I  said,  rising. 

Half-way  to  Lower  California,  we  met 
Barry  coming  toward  us.  He  stopped,  and 
Aline  slid  by  to  rejoin  her  Jo. 

"I  am  awfully  ashamed  that  it  happened," 
I  said. 

"And  I,"  he  replied  emphatically,  "am 
awfully  glad  'it  happened'  and  that  I  saw 
'if* 

"Why?"    I  asked  in  surprise. 

I  always  supposed  men  detested  weeping 
women.  Mark  does. 

"Because,"  he  said.  "I  was  afraid  you 
were  always  normal  and  practical  and  level- 
headed, and  I  like  to  know  there  are  depths, 
even  if  I  don't  want  to  disturb  them." 

Well,  Daddy  Lynn,  the  song  and  the 
tears  seemed  to  bring  you  nearer,  if  they 
did  make  me  sad  and  lonely. 

Good-night,  and  one  hundred  and  one 
kisses  from 

YOUR  JOAN. 

[70] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


April  19th. 
DEAREST  OF  DADDIES: 

THAT  nice  long  letter  you  wrote  while 
on  the  Gulf  of  Alaska  came  the  next 
day  after  I  cried  for  you,  and  I  have  read 
it  more  times  than  I  could  count.  I  felt 
like  crying  again  when  I  received  a  check 
for  the  money  I  sent  you  by  Mark.  I  so 
wanted  you  to  have  it.  You  may  need  it, 
and  I  don't.  I  know  you  wouldn't  take  a 
cent  from  Mark  if  you  were  penniless.  I 
have  put  the  money  in  our  building  and 
loan  fund,  so  it  is  ready  to  send  to  you  if 
you  need  it,  or  to  build  us  a  barracks. 

You  say  that  it  made  Mark  mad;  that  if 
he  had  known  what  was  in  the  package  he 
would  never  have  carried  it.  That  made 
me  mad  until  I  read  that  you  thought  his 
anger  assumed  to  hide  other  feelings.  I 
know  you  are  very  sorry  that  things  are  as 
they  are  between  Mark  and  me,  and  it's 
all  the  sweeter  in  you  to  say  so  little  about 
it.  I  know  Mark.  He'll  round  to  comfort- 
ably in  time  and  we'll  be  back  in  our  little 
en  famille  routine  when  you  both  return. 
[71] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

I  wish  he  would  not  be  so  grouchy.     I  miss 
his  letters. 

The  next  day  after  I  met  Barry  I  came 
home  earlier  than  usual  from  the  Bureau 
to  play  my  role  of  Pocahontas. 

Spring  rains  have  ceased  and  the  sun  and 
wind  are  getting  in  their  drying  work,  so 
the  pond  will  soon  be  a  yard  and  the  canoe 
out  of  business,  prospects  which  make  the 
little  boys  feel  bad. 

I  dressed  for  my  part  by  letting  my  hair 
hang  in  two  braids,  donned  a  very  short, 
fantastic  skirt,  moccasins,  a  beaded  jacket 
and  a  gorgeous  improvisation  of  an  Indian 
maid's  feathered  headgear,  and  went  down 
to  the  water-front.  I  was  unprepared  for 
the  large  number  of  performers  engaged  for 
this  impromptu  drama  and  a  little  embar- 
rassed at  finding  myself  surrounded  on  the 
banks  of  the  Chickahominy  by  a  band  of 
boys.  They  gave  me  an  ovation  befitting 
the  costume  of  my  star  part  and  I  soon 
ceased  to  feel  like  a  fish  out  of  water  and 
became  interested  in  staging  the  play.  My 
memories  of  that  part  of  our  early  history 
are  a  bit  hazy,  but  I  assured  my  prompters 
that  dramatists  never  stuck  to  the  truth 
[72] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

any  more  than  historians  did,  so  we  impro- 
vised and  improved,  I  think,  upon  the  origi- 
nal. At  last  the  parts  were  all  given  out, 
stage  directions  issued  and  the  play  was 
on. 

Haphiram  as  Captain  John  Smith  went 
down  the  Chickahominy  in  a  canoe  accom- 
panied by  one  of  his  Indian  guides  famil- 
iarly known  as  "Chilblains."  As  they  came 
shooting  down  the  stream,  they  were  at- 
tacked by  the  hostile  Indians.  Hap  played 
his  part  most  realistically,  leaping  from  the 
canoe  and  wading  (he  wore  rubber  boots) 
to  the  marshlands,  often  referred  to  as  the 
"onion  bed."  At  last  he  was  overpowered 
and  led  to  a  fire  which  refused  to  blaze. 
Then  John  Smith,  or  "Cap"  as  he  was  more 
frequently  and  intimately  addressed,  asked 
to  be  taken  to  the  Chief  Opechanaugh, 
strenuously  portrayed  by  Herk.  After  some 
parley  which  carried  me  back  to  the  days 
when  I,  too,  spoke  Hog  Latin,  the  prisoner 
was  bound  to  a  tree  by  one  of  his  garters 
which  was  conveniently  hanging.  He  was 
about  to  be  shot  when  Opechanaugh  inter- 
vened, and  they  laid  down  their  arms  — 
bows  and  arrows  and  sling  shots. 
[73] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

In  Indian  file  they  led  the  Captain  the 
length  of  the  onion  bed  to  an  old  apple-tree. 
Here  he  was  confined  in  a  chicken  coop 
while  the  Chief  and  his  followers  engaged 
in  a  war  dance.  Food,  consisting  of  a  pan 
of  popcorn  and  a  bottle  of  licorice-water, 
was  passed  in  to  Smith,  who  made  such  a 
vigorous  and  wholesale  onslaught  upon  his 
rations  that  the  hostile  demonstration  of 
resentment  became  very  realistic  and  cries 
of  "pig"  and  "cheat"  rang  out. 

For  three  days  (stage  space  of  time)  they 
continued  their  orgies  and  incantations  ac- 
companied by  a  tin-pan  orchestra.  Echoes 
of  the  hideous  din  still  ring  in  my  ears. 

Finally  to  my  relief  the  prisoner  and  his 
captives  moved  on  to  the  seat  of  Powhatan, 
played  by  Heck.  (The  family,  of  course, 
had  the  principal  parts  as  they  furnished 
the  settings  and  the  costumes).  His  wig- 
wam, constructed  by  putting  a  bedquilt 
over  a  clothes-line  and  pegging  it  down  with 
clothes-pins,  was  on  a  rise  of  ground  destined 
to  give  forth  potatoes  if  they  didn't  come 
up  something  else. 

A  horrible  yell  went  up  on  the  arrival  of 
Captain  Smith.  He  was  again  feasted, 
[74] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

sparingly  this  time,  the  pan  being  held  out 
long  enough  for  only  one  grab  and  the 
licorice-water  bottle  jerked  away  with  a 
suddenness  that  nearly  choked  the  remon- 
strating "Cap." 

After  another  consultation  in  Hog  Latin, 
stones  were  piled  up  and  Smith  rudely 
thrown  across  them.  As  he  was  about  to 
be  slain,  I  Pocahontas,  plead  with  Father 
Heck  for  his  life,  but  to  no  avail.  I  made  a 
hit  by  using  the  Indian  words  Mark  had 
taught  me  when  we  used  to  play  this  ab- 
sorbing game.  Then  at  the  risk  of  my  life, 
I  clasped  the  prisoner's  head  in  my  arms 
and  bent  my  face  to  his.  I  quickly  drew 
back;  he  was  so  very  redolent  of  licorice- 
water. 

Powhatan  relented  and  consented  to  let 
Captain  John  live,  on  condition  that  he 
send  him  two  guns,  tobacco,  and  numerous 
other  things.  All  hands  then  gained  the 
stoop  by  means  of  the  Isthmus  of  Lettuce 
Land.  Here  we  were  surprised  by  the  sound 
of  vigorous  applause,  and  Barry  Walters 
appeared  in  the  doorway  to  Winnipeg. 

Alas  for  the  Judge  and  the  maiden!  Alas 
for  my  hope  to  make  Barry  forget  Mark! 
[75] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

I  was  a  fright  and  looked  altogether  too 
much  like  the  real  thing  in  Indians  to  charm 
a  suitor.  I  had  not  expected  an  audience 
even  of  grown-up  Haphazards,  as  all  the 
family  save  Grandma,  who  was  napping  in 
her  room,  were  away. 

"It  would  make  fine  moving  pictures," 
cried  Barry,  as  I  scudded  past  him.  He 
came  in  pursuit,  but,  thank  goodness,  got 
lost  in  the  shuffle  and  was  stranded  near 
the  Needles. 

I  changed  my  costume  and  remained  in 
Oregon  until  the  hour  for  dinner  (the  night 
meal  is  dinner)  to  which  I  had  been 
asked. 

When  I  came  down  Barry  was  still  there, 
the  delivery  of  three  quarts  of  ice  cream 
announcing  that  he  was  a  self-invited  guest. 
I  have  learned  that  this  is  a  common  custom 
of  his.  Sometimes  he  sends  a  fowl  or  roast, 
pleading  that  he  can't  get  one  properly 
cooked  at  the  hotel,  or,  maybe,  some  out 
of  season  luxury  which  he  says  tastes  so 
much  better  at  a  home  table.  He  does 
these  things  so  easily  and  so  delicately 
that  the  Haphazard  pride  is  not  wounded. 

"As  Pocahontas,"  he  said  to  me,  "you 
[76] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

looked  very  much  like  that  picture  taken 
when  you  were  fourteen." 

"Which  one  was  that?"  I  asked. 

"The  one  Mark  has  always  carried  in  his 
watch." 

Think  of  our  gruff  Mark  doing  anything 
like  that!  I  wonder  if  he  has  taken  it  out 
of  his  watch  now? 

"I  still  don't  know  which  one  you  mean," 
I  told  him.  "I  didn't  know  he  had  any 
picture  of  me  in  his  watch." 

"It's  the  one  where  you  are  wearing  a 
big  picture  hat  and  are  holding  a  kitten  in 
your  arms.  You  looked  no  older  than  that 
in  Pocahontas  attire  when  you  were  plead- 
ing with  Heck  —  I  mean  Powhatan  —  and 
I'll  venture  to  say  you  felt  no  older." 

I  entirely  ignored  these  remarks. 

"I  inspected  your  Bureau  today,"  he  re- 
marked, trying  again  to  get  a  rise  out  of  me. 
He  succeeded. 

"You  did!    I  didn't  see  you." 

"No;  it  was  at  the  hurry-up  lunch  hour, 
and  the  place  was  crowded.  You  seemed 
quite  busy  yourself  at  the  Bureau,  and  I 
took  observations.  I  thought  I  owed  it  to 
Mark  to  see  that  everything  was  all  right." 
[77] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

So  you  see,  father,  that  with  my  gentle 
mastiff,  Jo,  and  my  watchdog,  Barry,  I  am 
as  well  protected  as  if  you  and  Mark  were 
with  me.  I  rather  resented  Barry's  pre- 
sumption in  "seeing  that  everything  was  all 
right,"  and  I  asked  him  sarcastically  if 
things  met  with  his  approval. 

"Entirely,"  he  said  gravely.  "I  saw  you 
had  a  cool,  impersonal,  business-like  way 
with  you  that  kept  your  customers  at  the 
conventional  angle  of  trade.  I  know  Gou- 
dolaris,  too,  and  he  is  a  nice,  respectable 
fellow,  so  I  am  well  satisfied." 

I  am  writing  you  this,  because  I  know  you 
will  feel  better  if  my  assurance  is  indorsed 
by  a  man  and  one  who  is  a  friend  of 
Mark's. 

Every  time  Barry  looked  at  me  during 
dinner  and  throughout  the  evening  his  eyes 
danced  and  his  mouth  twitched.  I  suppose 
he  was  thinking  of  my  outlandish  appear- 
ance as  Pocahontas.  However,  as  he  was 
taking  his  departure  he  made  amends  by 
asking  Hally  and  myself  to  go  to  the  theatre 
and  to  supper  afterwards  the  following 
Thursday  night. 

I  wonder  if  he  invited  me  to  chaperon 
[78] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Hally,  or  asked  her  to  help  him  sustain  his 
role  of  the  faithful  friend? 

Hally  was  simply  in  the  seventh  heaven. 
All  the  Haphazards  adore  the  theatre.  As 
Mr.  Irving  is  one  of  the  owners  of  the  prin- 
cipal opera-house,  Aline  always  has  two 
tickets  at  her  disposal.  This,  of  course, 
takes  care  of  Jo.  Tippecanoe  ushers  his 
way  in.  Barry  often  sends  matinee  tickets 
to  Mrs.  Haphazard  and  Hally.  All  the 
nickels  the  little  boys  can  lay  their  hands 
on  are  invested  in  picture-show  admissions. 

"What  will  you  wear,  Hally?"  asked 
Tippy  suddenly,  his  ruling  passion  bringing 
the  first  little  cloud  to  his  sister's  blue  sky. 

"I  can  fix  up  a  white  waist  for  her,"  said 
Mrs.  Haphazard,  "and  that's  all  that  will 
show." 

"She  will  need  a  white  dress  for  her  gradu- 
ation," said  Jo  thoughtfully.  "She  might 
as  well  have  it  now.  You  buy  one  for  her, 
mother,  and  I  will  pay  for  it." 

"No,"  refused  Hally  flatly,  "I  can  get 
along  without  a  new  dress  for  graduating, 
because  the  class  has  voted  to  wear  caps  and 
gowns." 

"No,  Jo,"  agreed  Mrs.  Haphazard.  "It 
[79] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  heard  her  speak 
so  emphatically.  :'You  gave  me  your  entire 
salary  this  week,  and  you  are  not  going 
to  spend  a  cent  on  any  of  us  again  this 
month." 

I  had  been  working  my  suggestion  faculty 
ever  since  Barry  asked  us,  for  I  was  deter- 
mined Hally  should  have  a  new  dress  and 
some  fixings  without  poor  Jo  putting  up  for 
it.  She  is  much  taller  than  I,  so  I  couldn't 
lend  her  any  of  my  gowns.  I  suddenly  had 
an  inspiration  and  I  ran  from  the  room  after 
Tippecanoe  who  was  going  upstairs.  I  meant 
to  take  him  by  the  collar,  if  necessary,  and 
make  him  buy  Hally  some  finery  for  the 


occasion. 

tt 


Tippy,"  I  asked,  "have  you  any  money?" 

"Sure!"  he  answered,  putting  his  hand  in 
his  pocket.  "I  haven't  spent  my  last  week's 
salary  yet.  "How  much  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  enough  to  buy  material  to  make 
Hally  a  new  dress." 

He  looked  quite  staggered  by  this  demand. 

"You've  no  idea,"  I  cajoled,  "how  per- 
fectly charming  your  little  sister  will  look 
when  she  is  furbished  up  a  little,  and  it  isn't 
fair,  you  know,  for  Jo  to  do  it  all,  especially 
[80] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

now  that  he  ought  to  be  saving  up  to  get 
married. 

Tippecanoe's  hand  was  coming  out  of  his 
pocket  now,  and  he  handed  me  his  last 
week's  wages  and  his  all. 

It  was  sad,  but  then  it  would  be  good  for 
him.  You  used  to  say  something  like  that 
when  you  persuaded  me  to  take  bad  medicine. 

I  hurried  back  to  California. 

"Rally,"  I  cried  triumphantly.  "Tippy 
has  given  me  the  money  to  buy  you  a  new 
gown." 

"Oh!"  gasped  Hally  incredulously.  "Poor 
Tippy!  He's  been  saving  up  to  get  a  spring 
overcoat." 

"Well,"  he  can  get  it  in  the  fall,"  I  said. 
"I  saw  some  lovely  white  sheer  stuff  today 
marked  down.  Mrs.  Munk  can  cut  and  fit 
like  a  professional,  and  we  will  all  pitch  in 
and  make  it." 

Rally's  eyes  were  shining  as  we  began  to 
discuss  the  fashioning  of  the  new  gown. 

"Make  it  long  sleeves,  Joan,"  she  re- 
minded me. .  J*  You  know  my  gloves  are 
short." 

"No;"  I  replied.  "You'll  have  short 
sleeves.  Mark  brought  me  two  dozen  pairs 
[81] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

of  long  white  gloves  and  two  dozen  silk 
stockings  when  he  came  home  last  fall.  So 
you  see  I  can  easily  spare  a  pair  of 
each." 

"You  shall  wear  my  evening  coat  and 
slippers,"  offered  Aline  eagerly.  "Jo  and  I 
are  going  to  the  matinee  performance,  so 
I  won't  need  them." 

For  the  next  four  days  we  sewed  like  mad. 
I  took  the  sleeves  and  the  girdle  to  the 
Bureau  to  make  between  suggestions. 

Thursday  we  had  an  early  dinner  and  right 
away  afterwards  I  began  to  prepare  Moses 
for  the  fair.  Hally  wears  her  hair,  which  is 
long  and  golden,  in  a  looped-up  braid  and 
adorns  it  with  a  big  perky  bow  in  little- 
girl  fashion.  The  things  I  did  to  that  wealth 
of  hair!  Her  head  was  perfectly  regal  when 
I  had  coiled  the  golden  bands  about  it  and 
secured  them  with  the  jeweled  pins  Mark 
gave  me  last  Christmas. 

"Now,  look  at  yourself!"  I  commanded, 
and  turned  her  around  to  the  mirror. 

"Oh,  Joan!    I  don't  know  me!" 

"You're  never  again,"  I  declared  emphat- 
ically, "to  wear  that  eight-grade  braid 
down  your  back.  I'll  do  your  hair  for  you 
[82] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

every  day  until  you  learn  how  to  manage  it 
yourself." 

The  poor  child  was  so  delighted  she  could 
hardly  wait  to  get  into  her  dress.  When 
she  was  arrayed  in  all  her  glory  I  left  her 
staring  in  the  mirror  quite  overcome  by  her 
grandeur. 

I  was  in  the  hall  when  Barry  came. 
'You    look    very    sweet,    Joan,"    he    said 
approvingly. 

Then,  Hally  appeared.  From  the  tip  of 
Aline's  Cinderella  slippers  to  the  jeweled 
tops  of  my  Christmas  pins  she  was  a  dream 
—  a  vision  in  white.  Her  cheeks  were 
flushed,  her  eyes  radiant. 

We  hadn't  told  Barry  a  word  about  our 
elaborate  preparations,  meaning  to  surprise 
him.  We  did. 

"Why,  Hally!" 

He  really  couldn't  stop  staring.  The 
family  all  came  into  the  hall  to  see  us  off. 
Tippy  looked  more  pleased  than  he  would 
have  looked  if  he  were  wearing  the  coveted 
coat. 

"The  finer  the  feathers,  the  finer  the  bird," 
he  said.  "I  didn't  suppose  our  little  Hally 
was  such  a  stunner." 

[83] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"But,  Hally,  how  did  you  come  to  grow 
up  over  night?"  asked  Barry. 

"She's  been  grown  up,"  I  told  him,  "for 
some  time,  but  none  of  you  discovered  it." 

"She  has  put  the  kibosh  on  you,  Tip," 
laughed  Barry. 

"It  was  Tippy,"  said  Hally  quickly,  "who 
gave  me  this  beautiful  dress." 

"Good  for  you,  Tip,"  and  Barry's  hand 
came  down  in  surprised  approval  on  Tippy's 
shoulder. 

"Joan  suggested  it  to  me,"  confessed 
Tippy,  "and  she  made  most  of  the  dress." 

"Aline  loaned  me  her  slippers  and  coat," 
added  Hally  gleefully. 

It's  simply  impossible  for  the  Haphazards 
to  have  any  family  secrets. 

"And,"  she  continued,  "Joan  gave  me 
these  long  white  gloves  and  my  silk  stock- 
ings." 

"No;  Mark  Shelby  gave  you  those,"  I 
said  with  a  short  laugh. 

"Well,  Tippy,"  said  Barry,  "I  never  can 
take  care  of  two  such  good-looking  girls. 
Meet  us  in  the  lobby  after  the  play  and  go 
to  supper  with  us." 

Tippecanoe  looked  as  pleased  as  Hally 
[84] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

and  hurried  on  to  the  theatre,  where  we 
followed  later  in  Barry's  car.  You  should 
see  the  pride  with  which  Tippy  led  us  down 
to  our  seats  and  handed  us  our  coupons  and 
programs.  I  managed  to  have  Hally  sit 
next  to  Barry,  and  he  was  very  nice  and 
attentive  to  her.  I  think  I  enjoyed  watch- 
ing her  naive  air  of  childish  pleasure  more 
than  I  did  the  people  on  the  stage,  and  I 
am  sure  Barry  did. 

When  we  were  home  I  went  into  Rally's 
room  to  help  her  out  of  her  dress. 

"Oh,  Joan!"  she  sighed.  "Tomorrow  I'll 
be  back  in  the  ashes  again  —  a  Cinderella. 
Barry  won't  want  to  look  at  me  or  talk  to 
me  the  way  he  did  tonight.  It  was  my 
clothes." 

"No,  it  wasn't,"  I  said.  "It  was  simply 
that  you  felt  the  moral  support  that  comes 
with  the  knowledge  of  being  well-dressed,  and 
you  lived  up  to  the  clothes.  It  takes  the 
right  kind  of  a  frame,  you  know,  to  show 
off  the  picture." 

She  looked  at  me  wistfully.  "I  want  to 
ask  you  something.  Do  you  —  like  Barry?" 

"I  should  say  I   do,"  I  replied  heartily. 
"I  think  he's  a  peach." 
[85] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"Oh,"  she  said  joyfully.  If  you  —  loved 
him,  you  wouldn't  say  it  that  way.  I 
thought  if  you  cared — " 

She  paused  again,  blushing.  I  looked  at 
her  keenly.  This  was  no  schoolgirl's  first 
adoration,  no  hero-worship.  She  really  cared. 
I  knew  that  until  tonight  Barry  had  looked 
upon  Hally  about  as  he  did  upon  the  twins. 
He  wasn't  susceptible  to  clothes  as  Tippy 
is,  but  every  man  likes  to  see  a  girl  trig  and 
taut,  and  I  had  often  observed  him  looking 
in  dismay  at  Rally's  run-down  heels  and 
knee-sprung  skirt. 

"Hally,"  I  said  gravely,  "I  don't  care 
for  him  in  the  way  you  mean,  I'm  heart- 
whole  and  fancy  free.  But  if  you  want  to 
win  him,  you've  got  to  turn  over  a  new 
leaf.  Will  you?" 

"Yes;  I'll  turn  over  any  number  of  leaves 
if  it  will  make  him  grand  to  me  like  he  was 
tonight.  What  must  I  do?"  she  asked 
wistfully. 

"You  must  look  your  best  for  one  thing. 
It  isn't  altogether  clothes.  Even  shabbiness 
can  be  ship-shape.  You  can  fix  your  hair 
as  it  is  now,  and  keep  well  groomed,  and 
we  must  manage  for  a  few  more  new  things. 
[86] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Wouldn't  you  like  to  earn  some  money? 
Enough  to  dress  yourself?" 

"Oh,  yes!  If  I  only  could!  I  don't 
wonder  Tippy  spends  all  his  money  for 
clothes.  I  didn't  know  it  felt  so  nice  to  be 
dressed  up.  Of  course  when  I  am  graduated 
I  plan  to  do  something.  Maybe  I  can  learn 
typewriting." 

"You  mustn't  wait  until  then,"  I  said. 
"If  you're  going  to  do  a  thing,  don't  put  it 
off  a  minute." 

"What  can  I  do?"  she  asked  in  helpless 
appeal. 

"You  wait,"  I  told  her,  "until  I  get  to 
the  Bureau  where  I  left  my  thinking  cap. 
That's  where  my  suggestions  come  to  me. 
Now,  good-night." 

I  went  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  First  of 
all,  I  had  to  readjust  my  own  program.  I 
had  thought  to  have  at  least  a  mildly  pleas- 
ant little  flirtation  with  Barry,  but  of  course 
now  I  must  cut  that  out.  I  can't  hurt 
another  Haphazard,  for  Tippecanoe  does 
care  in  his  little-boy  way.  Hally  shall  have 
her  chance  and  I  must  work  to  keep  her  up 
to  concert  pitch.  I  found  I  couldn't  wait 
until  morning.  I  must  do  night  work  along 
[87] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

the   suggestion   line,    so   I   lay   awake   until 
suddenly  came  a  Bureau-born  thought. 

I  put  on  negligee  and  slippers  and  sped 
down  the  hall  to  Rally's  room.  The  light 
was  still  shining  under  her  door,  so  I  knocked 
and  told  her  I  was  coming  in.  She  was 
sitting  before  the  mirror,  and  she  blushed 
vividly  when  she  saw  me. 

"I've  been  practising  on  my  hair.  See! 
I've  learned  how  to  do  it." 

So  you  see  love  can  teach  hairdressing. 

"I  just  ran  in  to  tell  you  that  I've  thought 
of  a  way  for  you  to  earn  some  money  at 
once." 

"Tell  me,  Joan!"  she  cried,  dropping  the 
comb  and  spilling  half  a  pound  of  hair  pins. 

"No;  not  until  I've  worked  out  the 
details.  Come  to  the  Bureau  tomorrow  after- 
noon when  you  are  out  of  school  and  we'll 
go  shopping." 

The  next  noon,  instead  of  having  my 
luncheon  at  the  restaurant,  I  went  to  the 
tea  and  coffee  store  for  my  refreshments 
and  suggested  to  the  proprietor  that  he  serve 
marmalade  and  toast  with  his  tea. 

"Marmalade!     What    is    that,    now,    and 
where  could  I  get  some?" 
[88] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"I  know  someone,"  I  told  him,  "who  can 
make  marmalade  to  the  queen's  taste.  You 
can  serve  it  and  sell  it,  for  every  woman 
who  tastes  it  will  want  to  buy  some  to  take 
home." 

"I'll  try  it,"  he  replied  promptly. 

Hally  came  in  after  school  and  was  sur- 
prised that  anyone  should  want  to  buy 
marmalade.  The  Haphazard  credit  was  good 
so  we  bought  some  patent  pumps,  a  tailor- 
made  suit,  hat,  material  for  blouses,  some 
blue  stuff  for  a  house  dress  that  made  her 
eyes  a  heavenly  blue,  and  a  few  accessories. 

These  purchases  were  all  nails  in  my 
coffin,  but  I  enjoyed  driving  them  in.  We 
went  home  and  started  on  a  job  lot  of 
marmalade.  The  next  morning,  Saturday, 
she  went  with  me  to  the  tea  and  coffee  store. 
I  stopped  in  again  at  night  to  learn  the  result 
and  found  he  had  sold  out  and  wanted  all 
she  could  make. 

The  family  were  quite  excited  and  inter- 
ested in  this  new  source  of  revenue.  I  told 
them  that  the  tea  and  coffee  man  wanted  an 
original  name  for  the  marmalade. 

"Mildew     Marmalade,"     suggested     Hap- 
hiram  with  his  funny  little  giggle. 
[89] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"Or  Marmalade  from  an  old  Manse," 
offered  grandma,  and  that  was  all  I  could 
get  out  of  them,  so  I  told  the  tea  and  coffee 
man  he  would  have  to  do  his  own  christening. 

The  spring  planting  is  finished  and  the 
Haphazards  have  sown  a  yard-full  of  stuff. 
Roller-skating  season  is  now  at  its  height, 
but  Hap,  Herk  and  Heck  can  only  look 
on  wistfully.  They  manufactured  a  pair  of 
skates,  using  big  empty  spools  for  rollers,  and 
there  are  three  very  black  and  blue  and 
bruised  Haphazards  as  a  result  of  home 
industry. 

Tomorrow  will  be  my  birthday,  and  I  feel 
sure  I  shall  have  something  from  you.  It 
will  be  my  first  since  I  was  six  years  old 
that  Mark  has  let  pass,  as  I  feel  sure  that 
he  will  do.  This  is  where  I  ring  off,  but 
look  out  for  the  next  car. 

YOUR  OWN  JOAN. 


[90] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


April  26th. 
MY  OWN  DEAR  FATHER: 

THE  birthday  letter  and  the  beautiful, 
beautiful  presents  were  forwarded  here, 
but  I'll  begin  with  the  morning  of  my  anni- 
versary. I  had  been  very  careful  not  to  tell 
the  Haphazards  what  an  eventful  day  it 
was,  for  I  didn't  want  them  to  give  me  any- 
thing, but  it  seems  Hally  found  it  out  from 
the  fly-leaf  of  one  of  my  books,  so  when  I 
came  down  to  breakfast,  there  was  a  little 
pile  of  presents  at  my  place.  The  Hap- 
hazards make  a  great  deal  of  birthdays  and 
holidays.  There  were  six  knitted  wash- 
cloths from  Grandma,  some  bedroom  slip- 
pers from  Mrs.  Haphazard,  a  new  song  from 
Jo,  a  girdle  from  Tippy,  a  hand-stitched 
handkerchief  from  Hally,  and  the  three  little 
boys  had  put  together  and  bought  me  a 
bottle  of  quadruple  extract  of  tuberose 
perfume. 

I  was  so  surprised  and  overcome  I  couldn't 

speak,  so  I  jumped  up  and  beginning  with 

Grandma  kissed  each  and  every  Haphazard. 

When  I  came  to  Tippy,  he  drew  back  and 

[91] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

said:  "Wait!  I  want  my  turn  to  come  last, 
after  Heck."  Heck  is  ten  minutes  younger 
than  Herk.  This  was  somewhat  embarras- 
sing and  made  me  feel  conscious  when  I 
came  back  to  embrace  him,  especially  as  he 
gave  me  one  extra  "to  grow  on." 

When  I  reached  the  Bureau  I  found 
another  surprise  in  a  box  of  American 
Beauties  from  Barry.  I  haven't  made  much 
progress  yet  in  heading  him  off  and  Hally- 
ward.  He  pays  tribute  to  her  tailor-made 
style,  her  "done-up  hair"  and  the  dress  of 
beautiful  blue,  and  he  treats  her  with  the 
homage  born  of  theatre  night,  but  he  con- 
tinues to  flutter  about  me,  probably  because 
he  thinks  I  am  forbidden  fruit. 

Barry,  Aline  and  I  were  invited  to 
dine  at  the  house  in  honor  of  my  birthday. 
When  I  came  home  Hap,  Heck  and  Herk 
chorused:  "We've  got  three  surprises  for 

you." 

The  "first  surprise"  was  that  their  father 
had  come  home.  He  is  a  nice,  quiet  gentle- 
man and  yet  not  so  meek  as  that  description 
sounds.  He  was  very  sweet  in  his  greeting 
of  me. 

"We've  always  wanted  one  more  little 
[92] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

girl  to  come  to  us,"  he  said  smiling,  "and 
now  she  has.  So  we  have  three.". 

"Three!"  I  repeated  stupidly. 

"Aline,"  he  explained,  looking  at  her 
something  the  way  Jo  does,  and  she  in- 
stantly slipped  into  his  outstretched  arms. 

The  second  surprise  was  a  cake  with 
twenty  candles.  My  first  birthday  cake! 
And  my  first  party,  too,  I  told  them. 

Hally  was  so  sweet  about  the  roses  Barry- 
sent  me,  and  not  in  the  least  envious.  When 
he  came  to  dinner,  he  brought  her  a  lovely 
bunch  of  violets,  the  favorite  flower  of 
flowers  for  me.  That  was  one  thing  I  didn't 
scold  Mark  for  being  so  lavish  with. 

I  kept  looking  for  the  third  surprise  and 
finally  after  dinner  asked  for  it. 

"We  couldn't  let  you  have  it  before  din- 
ner," explained  Mrs.  Haphazard,  "because 
we  notice  that  you  don't  eat  when  you  are 
excited." 

She  brought  out  two  packages  —  one  very 
large  and  one  very  small. 

"They  came  by  express  this  afternoon," 
she  said. 

"It's  like  Christmas,"  said  the  little  Hap- 
hazards, jumping  about  while  I  hurried  to 
[93] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

take  the  wrappings  from  your  present.  Oh, 
you  duck  of  a  daddy,  where  did  you  find  that 
lovely,  Japanese-imported  kimono  with  the 
delicate,  exquisite  tints,  and  the  slippers  to 
match?  The  darling  letter  was  the  best  of  all. 

I  tried  on  the  kimono  at  once  and  let  them 
"oh"  and  "ah"  until  Heck  called  my  atten- 
tion to  the  little  package.  I  opened  it  with 
misgivings.  I  was  so  glad  Mark  had  not 
let  my  birthday  pass  without  a  remembrance 
of  some  kind,  but  I  feared  and  expected  to 
find  one  of  those  expensive  pieces  of  jewelry 
he  is  so  fond  of  giving  to  me. 

Well,  Daddy  Lynn,  when  I  opened  the 
box  and  saw!  Oh!  I  just  danced  up  and 
down  and  cried  and  laughed  and  kissed  it 
over  and  over,  while  the  Haphazards  grew 
nervous.  You  see  they  never  had  any  downs 
so  they  can't  have  any  ups.  They  always 
keep  to  that  mid-channel  of  safe  serenity 
that  cheerful  people  travel.  Me  for  the 
showers  so  you  can  have  rainbows;  the 
winter,  so  you  can  have  summer. 

"See  here,  little  Jumping  Joan,"  said 
Barry  finally,  "suppose  you  come  down  to 
earth  long  enough  to  show  us  what  you  have 
there." 

[94] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"The  loveliest  thing  in  the  world,"  I  said, 
and  I  held  up  that  darling  picture  of  you  in 
the  beautiful  little  oval  frame  —  what  I  have 
always  begged  you  for,  but  never  succeeded 
in  dragging  you  to  a  studio.  Mark  must 
have  manacled  you. 

"He  looks  just  like  a  father,"  said 
Grandma  when  your  picture  was  being 
passed  around. 

"That's  just  what  he  is,"  I  said,  and  then 
I  picked  up  Mark's  card  from  the  box.  It 
read:  "To  Little  Jumping  Joan  from  Mark." 

In  my  delight  I  kissed  that  too,  and 
looked  up  to  meet  Barry's  ardent  gaze.  In 
a  flash  I  knew  what  to  do  —  for  Hally's 
sake.  I  handed  him  the  card. 

"If  he  were  here  this  minute,  I'd  eat  him 
alive,"  I  said.  "Wasn't  it  darling  in  him?" 

"You  do  care  for  him,"  he  said  in  a  low, 
tense  voice. 

"More  than  I  knew,"  I  replied  unflinch- 
ingly. 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment  and  then  he 
told  me  seriously  how  very  glad  he  was. 

Now,  daddy,  don't  let  this  give  you  any 
wrong  impressions,  or  raise  any  false  hopes. 
It  wa§  the  gift,  not  the  giver,  that  made  me 
[95] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

so  gushing  and  it  atones  for  many  of  Mark's 
shortcomings.  When  I  went  up  to  Oregon 
that  night,  I  put  the  picture  before  me  and 
under  the  spell  of  your  dear  eyes  which  look 
right  into  mine,  I  wrote  Mark  a  little  note 
of  thanks  and  sent  it  to  him  at  Nome. 
Everything  goes  to  Nome.  I  hope  it  will 
thaw  the  ice  and  bring  my  brother  back 
again.  Do  you  know,  daddy,  some  way  I 
didn't  like  Barry's  calling  me  by  the  name 
you  and  Mark  gave  me  so  long  ago.  Be- 
cause I've  known  him  such  a  short  time. 
Maybe  (I  try  to  be  honest  with  myself) 
I  resent  the  knowledge  that  he  was  so  easily 
swayed  to  Hally.  Still,  I  really  want  my 
nickname  to  be  for  you  and  Mark  solely. 

The  next  evening  as  I  was  coming  home 
after  my  lonely  restaurant  dinner,  Barry's 
car  shot  by.  He  was  driving,  and  Hally, 
resplendent  in  Aline's  motoring  coat  and  hat, 
sat  beside  him.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
taken  her  anywhere  without  a  chaperone. 
A  little  farther  down  the  street  Jo  and  Aline 
passed,  so  absorbed  that  they  did  not  see 
me.  I  went  on  home  feeling  very  lonely 
and  sure  that  no  one  loved  me  except  my 
old  daddy  who  is  so  far  away. 
[96] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Mildew  Manse  seemed  to  be  empty, 
though  I  knew  Grandma  must  be  there 
somewhere.  I  sat  down  alone  in  California. 
It  was  very  quiet.  The  placid  ticking  of 
the  big  clock  sounded  awfully  loud.  It  pays 
no  attention  to  time,  as  we  understand  it, 
but  has  a  system  all  its  own.  Grandma  likes 
to  hear  it  strike,  so  it  is  regularly  wound  up. 
When  it  struck  nine  and  twenty  times,  I 
got  up  and  went  outside.  I  sat  down  on 
the  doorstep  and  felt  that  I  wanted  to  do 
something  desperate,  something  that  would 
make  Barry  write  to  Mark  or  bring  a  sorry 
look  to  Jo's  kind  eyes.  I  understood  then 
how  some  men  —  men  with  natures  like 
mine  —  go  on  a  "bat"  when  things  go  wrong. 

Then  along  came  my  saviors. 

"We've  got  a  bat!"  they  cried.  "Come 
on  to  the  barnyard." 

I  did,  and  they  made  the  astonishing  dis- 
covery that  I  could  throw  a  ball  "just  like 
a  boy."  • 

I  wish  Mark  would  come  back  and  fall 
in  love  with  Hally.  They  would  make  an 
ideal  couple. 


[97] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

April  29th. 

DADDY:  When  I  got  this  far  I  was  too 
sleepy  to  write  any  more,  and  the  next  night 
I  was  too  sad  to  finish.  Something  tragic 
happened.  Jo  lost  his  position  which  every- 
one supposed  to  be  as  fixed  as  the  evening 
star.  It  happened  in  this  way:  When  Old 
Rackney  came  back  Jo  announced  his  en- 
gagement and  asked  if  he  might  not  expect 
a  raise  when  he  was  married.  Old  Rackney 
hemmed  and  hawed  and  finally  said  he  was 
sorry,  but  he  had  decided  to  make  a  change 
in  the  business.  He  had  a  smart  young 
chap  on  the  string  who  had  some  capital  to 
put  in  the  concern,  and  so  he  wouldn't  need 
Jo  any  more.  The  old  Mutt!  Here  Jo  has 
slaved  and  built  up  the  business,  and  this 
was  what  was  handed  him  as  a  reward! 

Jo  was  gritty  and  resigned  on  the  spot 
which  wasn't  what  Old  Rackney  expected 
or  wanted.  He  was  counting  on  Jo  to  break 
in  his  raw  recruit,  the  piker  with  the  pile 
of  money.  I  hope  he'll  lose  every  cent  he 
puts  in  and  that  Old  Rackney  will  be  put 
in  jail,  and  then  some. 

Jo  came  home  rather  disconsolate,  though 
[98] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

the  rest  of  them  did  not  let  loose  their  cheer 
creed. 

" You'll  get  another  position,  Jo,"  Tippy 
assured  him.  "It's  easy  enough." 

Mrs.  Haphazard  said  things  always  had 
to  get  worse  to  get  better,  and  she  had  no 
doubt  but  what  this  would  be  the  means  of 
getting  a  higher  salaried  position  with  a 
chance  to  rise. 

Hally  said  it  was  so  fortunate  it  didn't 
happen  before  her  father  went  out  on  the 
road,  so  he  needn't  know  until  Jo  had  gotten 
something  else  to  do. 

Aline  lived  up  to  her  theory  of  what  she 
was  going  to  be  to  Jo  in  trouble,  and 
Grandma  said  how  nice  it  was  that  it  hap- 
pened at  just  this  particular  time,  because 
now  Jo  could  spade  up  the  garden  which 
would  save  hiring  someone  to  do  it. 

The  next  day  something  else  happened. 
Tippy  lost  the  tombstone  occupation.  The 
family  were  so  accustomed  to  Tippy's  losing 
a  position  that  the  occurrence  was  never 
noticed,  but  this  time  it  was  worse  than 
usual.  The  firm  he  was  working  for  failed 
and  couldn't  pay  Tippy  a  cent,  and  he  had 
actually  sold  a  broken  shaft  column  and  five 
[99] 


MILDEW   MANSE 

markers.  For  the  first  time  in  his  career, 
he  showed  he  could  stand  his  ground.  He 
demanded  his  pay. 

"You  can't  get  blood  out  of  a  stone,"  said 
the  senior  member  doggedly.  "There  isn't 
a  copper  in  the  coffers.  You  might  take 
what's  coming  to  you  in  granite.  There's 
one  or  two  of  those  defective  'To  the  mem- 
ory of  that  weren't  inventoried." 

The  man  was  joking,  but  Tippy  instantly 
picked  him  up  on  it. 

"All  right!"  he  declared.  "I'll  take  that 
square  slab  of  a  stone  marked  'Little 
Willie'  —  the  one  the  folks  wouldn't  take 
because  it  should  have  been  spelled  W-i-1-l-y, 
and  then  the  dots  to  the  i's  were  too  large." 

"Whaddy'  want  that  for?"  demanded  the 
man. 

"For  pay,"  reiterated  Tippy. 

"Take  it,"  said  the  debtor  grimly.  "I 
only  wish  we  could  liquidate  all  our  indebt- 
edness so  easily." 

So  Tippecanoe  had  j  it  sent  up  to  the 
house. 

"Whatever  are  you  going  to  do  with  it?" 
I  asked.     "Start  a  graveyard   somewhere?" 

"The  floor,"  he  explained,  "in  front  of  the 
[100] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

fireplace  in  California  is  all  rotted  away,  and 
I  am  going  to  have  this  nice  stone  laid 
in." 

And  here  I  had  been  thinking  that  Tip- 
pecanoe  had  no  thought  beyond  clothes! 

There  was  a  man  who  did  all-round 
tinkering  jobs  for  the  Haphazards,  and  he 
was  summoned  to  "set  the  stone."  He  set 
it  all  right,  but  he  got  it  wrong  side  up,  or 
rather  right  side  up,  and  it  was  rather  de- 
pressing when  we  sat  around  the  firet  hat 
night  —  one  of  those  cold,  rainy,  November- 
April  nights  —  to  stare  at  "Little  Willie"  in 
the  flickering  twilight. 

When  I  commented  on  the  fact,  Haphiram 
went  out  to  the  barn  and  brought  in  Peter 
Paul,  one  of  the  donated  cats  who  haunted 
the  pergola-barn,  and  stretched  him  out 
across  the  lettering,  but  Peter  Paul  was  not 
to  the  hearthstone  born  and  he  fled  in  fright 
to  his  more  familiar  environment  of  back 
fences.  Seeing  him  stretched  out  there  in 
that  brief  instant,  however,  gave  me  an  idea 
and  I  went  upstairs  and  brought  back  a 
small  leopard  skin,  relic  of  Mark's  wild- 
game  hunting  days,  and  laid  it  protectingly 
over  "Little  Willie." 

[101] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"The  sparks  will  set  fire  to  it,"  they  ex- 
claimed in  protest. 

"There  are  enough  of  us  to  put  them 
out,"  I  retorted. 

When  Barry  came  home  he  said  he  was 
very  glad  Jo  had  cut  loose  i rom  old  Rackney 
and  he  offered  Tippecanoe  a  position  in  the 
office  of  his  factory  as  assistant  bookkeeper. 

"Tippy  can't  keep  books,"  I  told  Barry. 

"I  know  it,"  he  admitted.  "I  wouldn't 
have  offered  him  the  position  only  I  was 
sure  he  would  be  tired  of  it  in  a  week  and 
quit.  Tip's  gone  up  in  my  estimation  though 
since  I  heard  of  his  taking  Little  Willie  for 
reimbursement.  I  think  your  Italian  hand, 
Joan,  is  remodeling  this  family." 

"I  suppose  you  mean  the  marmalade 
scheme.  Maybe  you  don't  approve  of  hard, 
cash  ideas  for  Hally's  little  head?" 

"No;  I  approve  of  women's  earning  money 
in  domestic  pursuits.  It's  the  commercial  at- 
mosphere of  offices  that  goes  against  the  grain." 

"How  very  sordid  my  little  Bureau  must 
seem!" 

"That  won't  last  long,"  he  predicted. 
''You'll  be  having  a  home  of  your  own  be- 
fore another  year." 

[102] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

I  didn't  tell  him  I  should  never  marry. 
I  am  boosting  for  Hally,  but  sometimes  it's 
hard  work. 

Nothing  seemed  right  with  my  world  that 
afternoon,  so  I  put  an  "out"  sign  on  the 
Bureau  and  went  for  a  walk  to  the  place  I 
love,  a  high  bluff  overlooking  the  river.  I  like 
to  stand  in  the  open  space  and  look  up  at  a 
faraway  sky  and  down  into  the  lonely  river. 

Whom  should  I  meet  there  but  Jo,  stand- 
ing, looking  —  just  looking,  as  I  had  planned 
to  do. 

It  was  a  little  slipped-in-summer  day  and 
we  sat  down  on  a  knoll  and  contemplated 
the  beauties  of  nature  together. 

"It's  the  most  beautiful  place  in  town," 
I  said.  "Why  don't  people  build  here?" 

"The  property  has  been  in  litigation  for 
some  time  and  couldn't  be  sold.  It  belongs 
to  Barry,  or  will,  when  the  clouds  roll  off 
the  title." 

"Speaking  of  angels  and  clouds — "  I 
said,  as  an  automobile  stopped. 

In  another  moment  Barry  came  up  to  us. 

"Good!"  he  said  to  Jo.     "I  was  planning 
to  find  you  on  my  way  from  here.    What  are 
you  two  people  plotting?" 
[103] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"We  met  by  the  usual  way,"  I  told  him, 
"and  Jo  was  telling  me  the  reason  no  one 
had  built  on  this  beautiful  place." 

"The  reason  is  removed,"  he  said.  "I 
can  read  my  title  clear  to  the  whole  Walters 
Subdivision  now.  That  is  why  I  wanted  to 
see  you.  I  don't  wish  such  a  lovely  resi- 
dence district  as  this  would  make  to  be 
mutilated  by  factories  and  working  men's 
homes.  I  want  it  platted  and  put  on  the 
market,  improved,  for  homes  for  the  best 
class  of  people." 

"Why  not  go  to  the  Bureau  of  Sugges- 
tions?" asked  Jo  with  his  sweet  smile. 
"Joan  will  surely  'ken  a  wy." 

:<Yes,"  I  replied  promptly.  "At  what 
hour  this  afternoon  may  I  expect  you?  It 
is  three  o'clock  now  and  I  am  going  back 
to  the  Bureau  soon." 

He  didn't  take  me  seriously  of  course. 

"I'll  drive  you  back  in  my  car  and  you 
can  hand  me  suggestions  en  route.  But, 
Jo,  I  mean  what  I  say." 

"So    do    I,"    I   replied    quickly.     "And    I 

don't  care  to  ride,  thank  you.     I  came  for 

the   walk.    And   I   have    something   to   tell 

Jo,  so  you  ride  away  and  call  at  five  and  I 

[104] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

will  tell  you  a  whole  lot  about  lots.  Then 
if  you  don't  like  my  suggestions,  I  will  give 
you  back  your  money  and  you  can  see  Jo. 
Good-bye." 

He  left  reluctantly,  and  Jo  and  I  sat  in 
silence  for  a  moment.  Such  a  big  idea  had 
flashed  into  my  head  when  Barry  told 
us  about  the  land,  and  the  big  idea  was 
followed  by  a  whole  train  of  little  supple- 
mentary ideas  like  sparks  that  radiate  from 
a  fire. 

"Jo,"  I  said,  and  something  in  my  voice 
must  have  conveyed  to  him  that  it  was  an 
auspicious  thought,  for  he  sat  up  straight 
and  looked  expectant,  i 

"Yes,"  he  encouraged. 

"Cross  my  palm  with  a  silver  quarter, 
please,"  I  pleaded. 

He  laughed  and  handed  me  a  quarter."  I 
hope  it  wasn't  his  only  one,  but  I  had  to 
have  it,  as  you  will  see. 

"Barry  will  come  to  me  at  five,  and  I 
shall  tell  him  that  this  is  one  of  the  instances 
when  I  refer  my  clients  to  some  one  more 
qualified  to  issue  information  on  the  subject. 
I  shall  refer  him  to  you." 

"Then  why,"  asked  the  bewildered  Jo, 
[105] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"didn't  you  tell  him  to  talk  to  me  about  it 
when  he  was  here?" 

"Why,  you  see,"  I  explained,  "I  get  a 
quarter  in  this  way  from  both  you  and 
Barry." 

"No,"  he  spoke  decidedly,  "that  isn't 
your  reason." 

"Well,  Jo,  you  haven't  any  suggestion 
aside  from  the  usual  method  of  real  estate 
men  in  selling  the  lots,  have  you?" 

"Why,  no." 

"I  thought  not.  I  have,  and  I  wanted  the 
time  to  put  you  wise,  so  when  I  send  Barry 
to  you,  you'll  be  primed  for  him.  That's 
why  I  took  your  quarter  so  you  would  be 
entitled  to  give  the  idea  as  your  own." 

It's  a  long  idea,  daddy,  and  I  am  going 
to  save  it  for  another  letter.  You'll  not  be 
left  in  suspense,  you  see,  because  you'll  get 
the  next  letter  at  the  same  time  as  this.  I 
kiss  your  picture. 

Good-night, 

JOAN 


[106] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


May  3rd. 
FATHER-MINE: 

YOU  are  a  darling  to  write  me  such  a  nice 
long  letter  when  you  are  so  very  busy. 
I  am  glad  the  experiments  are  working  out 
satisfactorily  and  sorry  for  delay  in  engine. 

Now  to  resume  my  real  estate  deal.  I 
suggested  to  Jo  that  he  should  advise  Barry 
to  advertise  extensively  throughout  the  city 
and  country  that  he  would  give  a  lot  free 
to  the  person  submitting  the  most  convincing 
article  on  "The  advantages  of  a  home  on  the 
river  bluff."  The  contestants  would  then 
come  out  here  for  their  local  color;  as  would 
the  usual  land-lookers  and  the  follow-the- 
flock  crowd,  so  there  would  be  plenty  of 
publicity. 

''That's  about  the  best  scheme  I  ever 
heard  of,"  praised  Jo.  "It's  worth  a  good 
many  quarters  to  Barry,  and  he  will  cer- 
tainly give  you  a  fat  fee  for  the  suggestion." 

"Me!"  I  cried.  "I  am  going  to  send  him 
to  you,  and  you  are  to  hand  out  this  line 
as  your  own." 

"But  it  isn't,"  he  objected.  "It's  yours." 
[107] 


"You  bought  and  paid  for  it.  That's 
why  I  collected  the  fee  in  advance,  so  you 
couldn't  make  that  objection." 

"No,"  he  persisted.  "You  must  tell  Barry 
your  plan." 

"I  won't  tell!  I  don't  care  a  rap  whether 
he  sells  his  old  lots.  I  only  thought  of  it 
for  you." 

"That  was  nice  of  you,  Joan;  but  Barry 
will  think  as  highly  of  my  ability  as  a  real- 
estate  man  as  though  the  brilliant  idea  were 
mine." 

Another  scheme  came  to  me.  I  am  full 
of  schemes.  This  one  is  for  us;  but  of  that 
later. 

I  handed  Jo  back  his  quarter. 

"Take  your  gold.  I  do  not  want  it,"  I 
sang. 

From  the  "welcome  home"  look  he  gave 
it,  I  know  it  was  his  last  quarter. 

"Tell  Barry  to  come  up  tonight,  and  I 
will  add  some  details  to  your  plan,"  he  said 
as  we  parted. 

At  five  o'clock  Barry  appeared  at  the 
Bureau.  We  found  a  table  built  for  two  and 
he  ordered  some  light  refreshments. 

"Now  for  the  suggestion,"  he  said  face- 
[108] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

tiously,  laying  down  a  quarter  of  a  dollar 
which  the  waiter  pounced  upon,  thanking 
Barry  most  obsequiously  as  he  departed  for 
the  kitchen. 

The  blank  expression  on  Barry's  face  sent 
me  into  peals  of  laughter. 

"He  certainly  has  his  Greek  nerve  with 
him,"  he  said  indignantly. 

"It's  just  as  well,"  I  said  when  I  could 
speak.  "My  suggestion  is  too  valuable,  Jo 
says,  to  be  handed  out  for  a  quarter." 

I  could  see  a  look  of  interest  come  into 
his  face  at  mention  of  Jo.  How  much  one 
man's  approval  means  to  another! 

"If  Jo  approves,  go  ahead  with  it,"  he 
said. 

I  told  him  my  proposition,  going  more 
into  detail  than  I  had  with  Jo.  He  was 
instantly  quite  keen  about  it,  and  so 
enthusiastic  he  scarcely  noticed  the  light 
refreshments  the  waiter  brought.  I  do 
like  enthusiastic  men.  Mark  just  lifts 
an  eyebrow  slightly  and  drawls  out: 
"Really!"  when  I  tell  him  some  hair-raising 
thing. 

"I  should  say  it  was  worth  more  than  a 
quarter,"  he  finally  exclaimed. 
[109] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"All  right!    May  I  name  my  own  price.'* 

"Certainly." 

The  waiter  now  produced  the  check  for 
our  tea  and  Barry  ordered  another  supply. 
He  also  handed  him  another  quarter. 

"That  other  wasn't  yours,"  he  said. 

The  man  left  with  a  bewildered  but 
wealthy  expression  on  his  face. 

"Well,  let  me  see,"  I  mused  aloud,  "there's 
the  streets  to  be  cut  through,  lots  platted, 
water  piped,  walks  built,  shade  trees  set 
out,  advertising  signs  put  up,  titles  and 
deeds  and  so  forth.  All  this  will  have  to  be 
looked  after." 

"Say,  Joan!  Were  you  ever  in  the  real 
estate  business?" 

"No;  but  I  heard  two  real  estate  men 
talking  about  the  preliminaries  to  such  a 
deal  at  this  table  about  a  week  ago  and  I 
learned  the  dope.  Make  Jo  your  agent. 
Let  him  handle  the  whole  business  and  give 
him  a  commission  on  lots  sold." 

"Joan,  I  take  off  my  hat  to  you.  It's 
just  the  job  for  Jo.  I'll  come  up  tonight 
and  we  will  go  over  the  whole  thing  with 
him." 

He  came  up  after  dinner  and  the  "three 
[110] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

bluffers,"  as  Hally  calls  us,  sat  down  at  a 
table  that  was  covered  with  plats  and  draw- 
ings which  Jo  had  prepared  for  the  occasion. 
He  took  the  initiative  with  that  air  of  know- 
ing his  business  which  always  inspires  con- 
fidence. 

"First  of  all,"  he  said,  "you  must  get  a 
name  for  your  subdivision,  one  that  will 
appeal  to  desirable  purchasers." 

"Give  Joan  a  quarter,"  piped  up  Hap- 
hiram,  "and  she'll  name  it." 

"She  can  name  it,  but  I  won't  pay  her  a 
cent  for  the  name^"  laughed  Barry. 

"On  that  condition  I'll  name  it  *  River- 
side Bluff.'  It's  rather  trite,  but  the  general 
run  of  homeseekers  don't  care  for  originality." 

"The  name  goes,"  declared  Barry. 

We  then  wrote  out  an  advertisement  which 
in  descriptive  powers  discounted  any  railroad 
literature  on  the  market.  We  decided  to 
have  three  judges  for  the  literary  contest, 
and  Barry  chose  a  prominent  newspaper 
man,  the  mayor,  and  the  principal  of  the 
high  school. 

Then  Jo  and  Barry  turned  to  their  map 
and  began  a  line  of  talk  about  so  many  feet 
front  and  some  silly  stuff  about  the  north- 

cm] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

east  by  southeast  which  was  very  unintelli- 
gible and  uninteresting  to  the  rest  of  us,  so 
we  withdrew  to  the  Gulf  after  I  had  pro- 
posed to  Barry  that  he  locate  Jo's  office  at 
Riverside. 

"You  can  buy  a  portable  office,"  I  said, 
"and  set  it  up  on  one  of  the  lots." 

"Some  location,"  he  approved. 

Barry  belongs  to  the  "do  it  now"  class, 
so  by  noon  of  the  next  day  the  office  was 
established  and  equipped  with  furniture  and 
supplies.  Maybe  Jo  wasn't  the  proudest 
man  in  town!  In  the  afternoon  I  went  out 
there  and  found  him  and  Barry  in  a  heated 
discussion. 

"It  sounds  almost  as  if  you  were  quarrel- 
ing," I  said.  "Let  me  be  the  arbitrator." 

"It's  Jo's  salary,"  explained  Barry.  "I 
have  offered  him  twenty-five  dollars  a  week 
and  commission  on  each  lot  he  sells  and  he 
balks." 

"Not  enough,  Jo?"  I  asked  innocently. 

"Enough!"  he  echoed.'' :" It  would  be  high- 
way robbery.  Twenty-five  dollars  is  too 
much  without  the  commission." 

"I'll  act  as  referee  and  adjuster.  Give 
him  twenty-five  dollars  a  week,  Barry,  and 
[112] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

instead  of  commission  present  him  with  a 
deed  to  a  lot." 

"You  bet  I  will,"  said  Barry,  "unless  you 
prefer  the  price  of  the  lot,  Jo.  You'll  need 
cash  soon  for  wedding  bells,  you  know." 

Jo  blushed  overwhelmingly. 

"I'd  rather  have  a  lot  here  than  anywhere. 
Aline  and  I  love  the  river/1' 

"There  will  be  no  taxes  for  a  year,"  said 
Barry,  "and  by  that  time  you  can  sell  it 
for  a  good  price  or —  " 

"When  do  you  open  business?"    I  asked. 

"Jo's  salary  starts  to-day,"  said  Barry. 

"Good!  I  came  out  here  on  business." 
Now,  daddy,  sit  up  and  take  notice  for  this 
is  where  you  come  in.  "I  came  to  buy  one 
of  your  lots.  Show  them  to  me,  please." 

They  laughed,  thinking  it  a  joke.  Then  I 
told  them  of  your  promise  and  my  longings, 
and  what  I  was  working  and  planning  for. 
Finally  they  were  convinced  that  I  was  in 
earnest. 

"I'll  give  you  a  lot,  Joan,"  declared  Barry, 
"for  your  banner  scheme.  Then  it  will  be 
a  good  advertisement  to  say  that  the  *  Bureau 
Lady*  was  the  first  purchaser." 

"I  won't  take  it,"  I  said  promptly. 
[113] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"You  see  it's  to  be  father's  home  and  paid 
for  with  the  money  he  left  me.  That  will 
be  the  first  big  payment,  and  the  balance 
I  can  pay  in  monthly  installments.  Father 
wouldn't  live  on  a  lot  that  was  given  him. 
He's  awfully  independent." 

"All  the  Lynn  family  are,"  said  Barry. 
"I  wonder  how  Mark  will  like  it  out  here." 

"Let's  get  down  to  business,"  I  remarked 
hastily.  "Come  with  me,  and  I'll  show  you 
where  I  want  my  'sold  sign'  staked." 

We  walked  along  the  bank  until  we  came 
to  a  beautiful  bend  in  the  river  where  the 
view  is  something  to  dream  of. 

"These  four  lots  along  here  are  the  choice 
ones,"  I  told  them,  "and  I'll  take  this  one 
with  the  trees  in  the  back." 

"And  I  am  going  to  reserve  the  one  next 
to  yours  for  myself,"  replied  Barry,  "and 
build  here  some  time.  How  will  you  like  me 
for  a  next-door  neighbor?" 

"Oh,  you  are  going  to  be  married?"  I 
asked  innocently. 

"Maybe,"  he  replied,  his  eyes  twinkling; 
"anyway  I  can  keep  bachelor's  quarters,  if 
I  can't  win  a  wife." 

"Then,  Jo,  you  take  the  lot  on  the  other 
[114] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

side  of  mine  and  we'll  have  a  neighborhood 
that  can't  be  beaten." 

"I'd  like  to  locate  near  you,  but  I  am  not 
going  to  take  one  of  the  most  desirable  lots. 
I'll  choose  one  farther  on." 

"I'll  buy,"  I  said,  "only  on  condition  that 
you  take  the  lot  next  to  me." 

"That's  right,  Joan.  It  takes  you  to 
manage  him.  I  shall  enjoy  watching  you 
try  to  do  anything  with  Mark,  though." 

"I  think  the  fourth  one,  the  one  next  to 
Jo's,  should  be  reserved  for  the  prize  lot," 
I  advised,  ignoring  his  Markism. 

"Great!"  replied  Barry.  "Then  there  will 
be  four  distinguished  citizens  in  a  row." 
t  We  all  went  back  to  the  office  and  I  wrote 
a  check  for  a  bonus.  The  next  morning  the 
red  tape  business  was  all  attended  to  and, 
daddy,  we  own  a  yard!  If  I  could  have  but 
the  one,  I'd  prefer  a  yard  to  a  house.  I've 
spent  all  my  spare  time  drawing  plans  for 
a  house,  and  I  am  inclosing  some  of  my 
efforts.  No.  1  is  the  colonial  we  are  going 
to  build  if  the  dredger  dredges,  and  No.  2 
is  the  story  and  a  half  cottage,  English  style, 
that  we'll  have  if  you  make  just  a  little 
money.  No.  3  is  the  little  bungalow  to  be 
[115] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

erected  in  case  you  lose  all  and  we  build 
from  future  profits  of  the  Bureau  and  your 
venture.  No.  4  is  the  portable  four-room 
snuggery  of  a  shack  we'll  live  in  while  we 
are  earning  enough  to  put  up  No.  3. 

This  afternoon  we  all  went  out  to  inspect 
"Jo's  Job,"  as  Herk  and  Heck  call  it.  Mrs. 
Munk  came  over  to  sit  with  Grandma  while 
all  the  Haphazards,  Aline  and  I  (though  we 
really  are  Haps)  went  out  to  Riverside  Bluff. 
You  can  believe  a  thrill  of  pride  went 
through  me  when  I  beheld  the  little  sold 
sign  on  our  lot.  I  expect  I  shall  soon  stake 
another  sign,  "Keep  off  the  grass."  Tippy 
rather  took  off  the  glamour  by  calling  the 
signs  "markers,"  for  the  vernacular  of  his 
tombstone  days  hangs  around  him  still. 

"I  shouldn't  think  you'd  want  to  live  out 
here  so  far  away  from  us,"  said  Hap  re- 
proachfully, as  we  gazed  at  my  "marker." 

"But"  I  argued,  "some  of  you  will  always 
be  next  door.  Jo  can  put  up  a  portable 
house  or  move  his  office  there  on  his  lot,  and 
it  can  be  a  branch  of  Mildew  Manse,  and 
you  can  take  turns  living  out  here.  Camp 
out  in  summer  and  skate  in  winter." 

The  little  Haps  sent  up  a  yell  of  delight. 
[116] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Aline  said  she'd  come  out  there  to  read  and 
sew.  Tippy  suggested  having  a  dance  pa- 
vilion on  the  lot. 

"And  this,"  I  said  significantly  to  Hally, 
"is  Barry's  lot  where  he  is  going  to  build." 

She  blushed  beautifully.  Love  is  certainly 
a  developer.  Barry  isn't  quite  in  love  with 
her  yet,  but  he  is  hovering  near  the  little 
danger  signal.  And  do  you  know,  father 
dear,  my  evidences  of  a  business  ability 
seem  to  have  chilled  the  little  bud  of  romance 
he  was  inclined  to  cherish.  I  believe  even 
if  Mark  should  woo  and  wed  some  Alaskan, 
Barry  would  be  too  disillusioned  to  become 
my  suitor.  A  man  of  his  type  turns  to  the 
domestic  woman  as  a  sunflower  to  the  sun. 
Goodness  knows  I'd  be  domestic  if  I  had  the 
chance,  but  I  should  always  be  interested  in 
the  details  of  my  husband's  business  same  as  I 
am  in  yours.  How  I  hate  the  word  "  husband." 
It's  so  homely  and  meaningless.  Wife,  now 
sounds  more  interesting  and  poetical. 

You  see,  daddy,  if  you  should  need  more 
money  for  the  dredger  I  can  raise  some  on  the 
lot.  Maybe  I'll  get  the  mortgage  habit,  too. 

With  love, 

JOAN, 
[117] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


May  10th. 
MY  DEAR  DADDY  LYNN: 

EVERY  letter  from  you  is  postmarked 
from  a  different  town,  and  I  can't  find 
any  of  your  stopping  places  on  the  map. 
Hope  you  are  always  making  Homeward. 
You  didn't  mention  Mark  in  your  last. 
What  does  he  do  for  amusement?  I  wonder 
if  he  will  answer  my  note?  I  can't  figure 
out  how  long  it  takes  to  get  an  answer  from 
there. 

We've  all  been  busy  this  week,  and  you 
say  to  be  busy  is  to  be  happy.  Whenever 
I  am  inclined  to  be  lonely  now  I  go  out  to 
our  lot  and  look  up  at  the  sky  or  down  into 
the  water  or  across  the  bank  into  a  beautiful 
wilderness  of  green.  Then  I  feel  as  if  I 
owned  all  the  space  between  the  water  and 
the  sky.  It  amuses  Barry  because  I  go 
out  to  Riverside  so  often,  and  he  tells  me  it 
isn't  necessary  to  homestead  out  there  to  get 
a  clear  title. 

Jo  has  surveyors,  walk-makers  and  water- 
pipers  at  work.  His  correspondence  about 
[118] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

the  contest  is  most  voluminous.  We  were 
very  explicit  in  wording  our  advertisement 
so  that  all  the  conditions  would  be  under- 
stood, but  no  one  could  foresee  such  ridicu- 
lous questions  as  come  in  by  every  mail. 
Here  are  a  few  of  them,  and  I  am  ashamed 
to  say  most  of  them  are  from  women:  "Will 
the  winner  have  to  live  always  on  the  lot? 
Does  the  river  overflow  the  bluff  in  the 
spring?  Will  the  lots  be  sold  to  only  writers? 
Can  married  women  try?"  These  letters 
are  mostly  from  the  rural  districts.  Of 
course,  the  townspeople  flock  out  to  the 
office  to  ask  their  foolish  questions  but  Jo 
is  sweet  and  patient  with  them  all.  He  says 
it's  good  publicity  to  have  them  come  out 
for  any  reason.  He  has  already  sold  three 
lots  and  I  have  been  offered  a  good  price 
for  mine. 

Tippecanoe  has  resigned  his  position;  quite 
a  novel  experience  for  him,  because  hitherto 
he  has  always  been  fired.  He  said  he  wanted 
to  feel  the  sensation  of  letting  loose  of  a  job. 
I  was  inclined  to  be  impatient  with  him,  but 
when  I  saw  how  pleased  and  relieved  Barry 
was  at  the  loss  of  an  assistant  bookkeeper, 
I  felt  differently  about  it.  Yesterday  Tippy 
[119] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

secured  a  two  weeks'  engagement  at  a  mov- 
ing picture  house.  The  regular  soloist  went 
away  on  a  vacation  and  hired  Tippecanoe  as 
a  substitute.  We  all  went  to  hear  him  last 
night.  I  had  my  misgivings  about  his  light 
voice  being  adequate  to  fill  a  theatre,  but  it 
was  a  small  building.  He  was  not  troubled 
with  stage  fright.  His  good  looks,  natty 
style  of  dress  and  his  up-to-date  selection 
of  music  made  a  decided  hit  and  the  Hap- 
hazards nearly  clapped  their  hands  off.  We 
stayed  through  two  performances.  The  re- 
muneration is  small  but  the  hours  appeal  to 
Tippy. 

"Has  bookkeeping  skinned  by  a  mile," 
he  said. 

I  have  unearthed  a  plot.  One  corner  of 
my  little  Bureau  space  I've  screened  off 
for  a  retreat  where  I  can  remove  the  shine 
from  my  nose  and  fuss  up  before  going  out 
on  the  street.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
screen  is  a  small  table,  remote  from  the 
others  and  patronized  extensively  by  sweet- 
hearts and  men  who  have  secrets^  up  their 
sleeves. 

The  other  morning  I  was  in  my  little  rest 
nook,  prinking  up  for  luncheon,  when  I 
[120] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

heard  the  voice  of  Aline's  father  on  the  other 
side  of  the  screen  saying: 

"I  just  dropped  in  here  for  a  quick  lunch 
and  then  was  going  to  your  office,  but  now 
we've  met  here,  I  guess  this  will  do  as  well 
as  any  place.  I  want  to  put  you  on  to  a 
gilt-edged  deal." 

I  want  to  be  in  on  "gilt-edged  deals" 
myself,  and  as  I  have  a  hunch  that  Mr. 
Irving  is  out  for  mischief,  I  deferred  my 
beauty  making  and  sat  down  to  listen. 

"You  know  that  land  out  on  the  river 
road  that  Jo  is  putting  on  the  market  for 
Barry  Walters?"  continued  the  conspirator. 

"Yes,"  said  a  strange  voice.  "They've 
got  a  big  thing  there." 

'Well,  now,  I  want  to  tell  you,  Hackney — " 

Rackney!  Now  I*  did  know  there  was 
something  doing.  I'd  find  out  what  these 
two  old  frauds  were  up  to. 

"Of  course,"  said  Old  Fraud  No.  1,  "I 
want  Barry  Walters  to  sell  his  lots,  but  I 
don't  want  him  to  drive  the  old  residents 
away  from  my  part  of  the  town.  I  under- 
stand he  is  going  to  put  up  a  fine  place  for 
himself,  and  naturally  the  young  blood  will 
be  apt  to  follow  his  example.  He  is  a  leader 
[121] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

of  his  set,  you  know.  I  like  Barry  Walters, 
and  I  don't  mean  to  hurt  the  sale  of  his  lots, 
but  he  will  be  making  just  as  much  money 
selling  to  the  working  class.  The  land  across 
the  river  from  his  sub-division  is  not  built  up." 

"Yes;  I've  been  wanting  to  get  my  fingers 
on  that  piece,  but  some  out-of-town  parties 
own  it.  It  will  boom  as  soon  as  people 
begin  building  on  Walters'  Subdivision  and 
I'd  like  to  get  it  before  the  jump  in  prices 
comes." 

"I've  found  out  who  owns  it,  and  I  want 
you  to  write  and  get  an  option  on  it." 

"You  bet  I  will!  It  will  cost  a  lot  to  put 
it  in  shape  for  marketing,  though.  All 
those  woods  to  be  cleared,  the  marshy  places 
drained  and  that  underbrush  burned  out." 

I  almost  groaned  audibly.  Those  beauti- 
ful woods,  the  marshy  places  and  the  "under- 
brush" burned  out  and  wiped  off  my 
landscape ! 

"I  know  some  parties  who  will  buy  the 
whole  place  as  it  stands  and  clear  it  them- 
selves," said  Mr.  Irving. 

"What  do  they  want  of  it?" 

"Site  for  a  new  factory  that  is  coming 
here.  You  can  buy  and  then  later  sell  to 
[122] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

the  factory  people  at  your  own  figures. 
You  see  when  the  better  class  of  people 
understand  that  a  factory  is  to  be  so  near 
they  won't  locate  out  there.  Just  as  soon 
as  you  get  your  option  on  the  place,  I'll 
put  a  notice  in  the  paper  about  the  factory. 
It  will  be  all  right  for  Walters,  too.  The 
factory  hands  will  want  their  little  homes 
handy." 

By  this  time  my  hat  was  on.  I  left  the 
Bureau  and  beat  it  to  Barry's  office.  He 
was  just  getting  into  his  car,  and  I  followed 
suit  before  he  quite  grasped  who  I  was.  I 
told  him  breathlessly  all  I  had  overheard. 

"Some  sweet,  little,  old  father-in-law  Jo 
has  on  the  string!  Never  worry,  Joan,  we'll 
block  their  game,  thanks  to  you.  I  know 
how  to  find  out  who  owns  that  land,  and  I'll 
wire  myself  for  an  option." 

"Good!"  said  I.  "Just  drop  me  at  the 
Bureau  and  then  get  busy." 

I  saw  Barry  again  that  night  and  he  said 
he  had  wired  very  fully,  following  it  up  by 
a  letter,  and  he  seemed  to  feel  confident  he 
would  get  first  chance.  Three  or  four  days 
elapsed  and  he  didn't  hear.  I  was  shivering 
for  fear  the  Irving-Rackney  combination 
[123] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

had  beaten  us,  but  one  noon  I  was  called 
to  the  telephone  in  the  restaurant. 

"Three  rousing  cheers!"  cried  Barry's  ex- 
ultant voice.  "I  just  received  a  message 
from  the  owner.  He  was  away  from  home 
which  accounts  for  his  delay  in  answering. 
I  have  an  option  on  your  scenery  all  right,  so 
let  old  Irving  do  his  worst." 

I  could  have  danced  a  jig  for  joy.  As  I 
turned  away  from  the  telephone  I  found 
myself  facing  Mr.  Irving  who  was  buying 
a  cigar. 

"You  look  as  if  you  had  heard  some  good 
news,  Miss  Lynn,"  he  said  cuttingly. 

"I  have,"  I  replied.  "Mr.  Walters  just 
telephoned  me  that  he  had  secured  an 
option  on  all  the  land  across  the  river  from 
his  Subdivision,  so  nothing  objectionable 
can  be  put  up  there." 

As  I  went  into  the  Bureau,  he  looked 
startled.  He  evidently  had  not  known  of 
my  occupation.  The  papers  that  night  had 
an  article  in  a  conspicuous  place  stating 
that  Mr.  Barry  Walters  had  bought  up  all 
the  land  across  the  river  from  his  new  Sub- 
division. 

Only  two  months  more  and  you'll  be  at 
[124] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Nome  and  then  what  a  lot  of  letters  you  will 
have  to  read  and  answer.  I  am  counting 
the  days  until  then.  Good-bye  until  my 
next  letter. 

Your  loving 

JOAN. 


[125] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


May  17th. 
DADDY-DARLING  : 

IT  is  blossom  time  and  the  flower  beds,  the 
fruit  trees,  the  bushes,  and  the  gardens 
send  forth  a  spicy  sweetness.  It  is  hard  to 
exchange  the  fragrance  of  Mildew  Manse  for 
the  Grecian  and  garlic  odors  of  the  Gou- 
dolaris  kitchen. 

In  the  later  afternoon  and  on  Sundays  I 
go  out  to  Riverside  Bluff  and  pick  wildflowers 
from  "our  lot."  I  send  you  one  herein. 

Spring  is  in  its  heydey.  There's  no  denying 
it,  and  everyone  seems  to  be  in  the  bill  and 
coo  stage  save  Hap  and  myself.  I  don't 
know,  father,  but  what  I  shall  have  a  chance 
to  make  the  May  grade  too,  but  I  haven't 
come  to  that  part  yet.  Jo  and  Aline  are 
the  lovingest  lovers  you  ever  saw.  Barry 
and  Hally  are  near-lovers.  Tippecanoe,  fickle 
one,  is  hovering  about  the  girl  who  plays  the 
piano  at  the  vaudeville.  I  saw  Herk  with 
a  pig-tailed  girl  at  the  sodawater  fountain 
yesterday  and  Heck  carries  apple  blossoms 
to  a  chubby  little  schoolmate.  Oh,  it's  the 
"marry  month  of  May"  all  right  —  a  man 
[126] 


Learning  to  walk  on  the  wavering  fence  with  a  balancing  pole. 
Page  12  7. 


MILDEW  MANSE 

and  a  woman  the  world  over.  Haphiram 
looks  on  with  a  sardonic  glance  and  scoffs 
at  these  springtime  fancies. 

There  is  a  nice  long  stretch  of  time  now 
between  my  half-past  five  dinner  hour  and 
dusk,  and  I  am  allowing  myself  a  Saturday 
half  holiday  like  other  workers.  Then,  too, 
the  Haphazards  are  not  very  strict  Sabbath 
observers.  All  this  lovely,  idle  time  I  pass 
in  play,  real  childhood  play  —  with  the  three 
young  Haps  and  their,," gang." 

Mildew  Manse  is  my  first  actual  contact 
with  a  yard,  and  I  simply  have  to  make  up 
for  that  cheated  childhood.  Play  calls  to 
me  and  I  must  get  it  out  of  my  system. 

I  was  initiated  into  the  popular  pursuits 
of  the  neighborhood  by  learning  how  to 
manage  a  raft.  From  that  I  passed  to  mar- 
bles in  the  mud.  Tag,  duck  on  a  rock 
(grandest  game  ever  devised),  still  pond, 
prisoner,  Pom,  pom,  pull  away,  one-old-cat 
(kindergarten  to  baseball)  all  followed,  and 
now  I  am  learning  to  walk  on  the  wavering 
fence  with  a  balancing  pole.  This  last 
named  sport  brought  me  an  adventure,  a 
promise  of  romance,  as  I  intimated.  Last 
night  as  I  leaned,  not  out  of  window,  but 
[127] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

on  my  balancing  pole,  which  I  used  as  a 
staff,  it  struck  a  stone  and  I  struck  the  long 
deep  grass  in  someone's  back  yard.  The 
house  belonging  to  the  back  yard  faced  on 
the  street  parallel  with  ours. 

I  lay  very  still,  not  because  I  was  hurt 
but  because  I  was  surprised,  and  then,  too, 
it  was  rather  pleasant  to  lie  in  the  soft, 
sweet-smelling  grass  and  look  up  into  the 
misty  sky  while  I  wondered  how  I  was 
going  to  climb  the  wobbly  fence  from  this 
side. 

I  heard  a  voice  —  not  a  Haphazard's,  — 
say:  "Are  you  hurt,  little  one?" 

I  jumped  to  my  feet  and  looked  into  blue 
goggles!  They  were  worn  by  a  man  who  was 
tall  and  slender  and  straight.  He  had  a  very 
nice  mouth,  but  I  couldn't  tell  the  color  of 
his  eyes  on  account  of  the  blue  glasses  which 
gave  him  a  sort  of  sad,  pensive  expression. 
Goggled  eyes  always  have  a  fascination 
for  me.  They  seem  so  mysterious,  so  un- 
fathomable. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  quickly, 
"but  my  eyes  are  troubling  me,  and  your 
short  skirt — " 

Ye  Gods!  To  think  how  near  I  had  come 
[128] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

to  wearing  just  the  bloomers  to  my  old  rid- 
ing habit. 

"And  my  pastime,"  I  finished  for  him, 
"but  you  see  I  never  had  a  chance  to  walk 
a  fence  until  just  lately,  and  I  am  making 
up  for  lost  time." 

"I  believe,"  he  said,  and  his  mouth  curved 
into  an  adorable  smile,  sweet  like  Jo's,  only 
stronger,  "you  are  still  young  enough  for 
me  to  ask  your  age?" 

"Twenty,"  I  replied  proudly. 

*  Indeed!    You  don't  seem  so  aged." 

**I  don't  always  walk  fences,"  I  told  him. 
"I  am  in  business,  and  I  have  bought  a 
lot  and  I  have  a  bank  account — " 

"Such  thrift  as  that,"  he  declared,  "doesn't 
seem  to  belong  to  the  Hazard  family.  I 
wondered  if  you  could  possibly  be  Hally. 
I  haven't  seen  her  for  three  years." 

"Oh,  no!  Hally  is  tall  and  golden-haired. 
I  am  Joan  Lynn." 

"And  I  am  Roger  Kane.  Are  you  visit- 
ing the  Hazards?" 

"No;  I  live  with  them.  And  is  this 
where  you  live?"  I  asked  pointing  to  the 
house  in  the  distance. 

"I  am  only  visiting  the  Coverleys.    I  was 
[129] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

on  my  way  to  renew  my  acquaintance  with 
the  Hazards.  This  fence  used  to  be  easy  to 
climb,  but— 

"It  would  take  a  Zouave  to  scale  it  from 
this  side,"  I  told  him.  "It  has  a  Pisa-like 
lean.  I  don't  see  how  I  am  going  to  get 
back.  Maybe  I  could  do  a  vaulting  stunt. 
Hap  could." 

"Suppose  we  walk  around  the  block  and 
go  in  by  the  front  entrance,"  he  proposed. 

"In  my  short  skirt  and  this  cap  of  Hap's!" 
I  exclaimed. 

"Then  say  we  wait  here  in  the  pergola 
until  it  is  darker." 

A  pergola,  a  twilight  and  an  air  full  of  the 
fragrance  of  May  blossoms  are  not  poor 
settings  for  getting  acquainted  with  a  fas- 
cinating stranger. 

We  sat  down  on  a  rustic  bench  and  talked 
about  the  Haphazards.  He  looks  at  them 
from  the  same  viewpoint  as  I  do  and  adores 
Mildew  Manse,  so  there  was  at  once  a  bond 
between  us. 

Finally  I  told  him  I  must  return  before 

Jo  began  to  be  troubled.     I  took  off  Hap's 

cap,   thinking   it   would   look   better   in   my 

hand    than    on    my    head.    My    hair    came 

[130] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

tumbling  down  and  he  held  my  hairpins  and 
handed  them  to  me  as  I  wanted  them.  He 
said  that  he  liked  curly  hair.  I  told  him 
he  wouldn't  if  he  had  to  comb  it  and  try  to 
keep  it  pinned  up. 

We  walked  around  to  the  front  of  Mildew 
Manse  and  surprised  the  Haphazards  by  our 
entrance.  They  were  delighted  to  see  Mr. 
Kane  again,  and  Aline  asked  me  how  long 
I  had  known  him. 

"Not  long,"  I  answered  evasively.  Then, 
seeing  Tip's  disapproving  survey  of  my 
fence-walking  costume  and  the  amused 
twinkle  in  Barry's  gray  eyes,  I  felt  moved  to 
continue:  "You  see  I  was  walking  the  back 
fence  and  I  fell  over  and  landed  at  the 
feet  of  Mr.  Kane.  We  had  to  sit  in  the 
pergola  until  it  was  dark  enough  to  come 
home." 

"Oh,  that  we  two  were  Maying,'"  sang 
Haphiram.  "You  said  you  wouldn't  get  it, 
Joan." 

"Get  what?"  asked  Mr.  Kane  curiously. 

"The  May  mania,"  replied  Hap. 

"WTiat  is  that?"  he  asked,  more  puzzled 
than  ever. 

"Don't     you     know     that     folks  —  some 
[1311 


MILDEW  MANSE 

folks — "  explained  the  enfant  terrible  "get 
spooney  in  May?" 

It  did  me  good  to  hear  Mr.  Kane's  mellow 
laugh,  so  good-natured  and  mirthful.  I 
love  laughs.  Jo  only  smiles.  Barry  shouts. 
Tip  grins.  Mark  simply  shakes  like  jelly, 
and  you  wouldn't  know  he  was  laughing 
except  from  the  little  quirk  to  the  corners 
of  his  mouth,  but  this  man  has  the  real 
charming  laugh,  —  the  laugh  —  that  is  like 
music. 

"I  think,"  said  Barry  significantly,  "I'd 
better  write  to  Mark." 

"Who  is  Mark?"  asked  Mr.  Kane  quickly. 
"I  wondered  if  there  wouldn't  be  a  Mark. 
You  didn't  tell  me." 

"She  never  tells  of  him,"  said  Hap. 

"If  Mark  had  seen  you  trying  to  walk  that 
crazy  fence,"  quoth  Barry,  "he  wouldn't 
have  waited  till  dark  to  walk  you  around 
the  block.  He'd  have  picked  you  up  and 
put  you  over." 

"Yes,"  I  admitted.  "And  Jo  would  have 
gone  and  fetched  two  chairs  and  put  one  on 
each  side  of  the  fence  so  I  could  step  over 
in  ladylike  manner.  You  would  have  kicked 
the  fence  down.  Mark  would  have  pitched 
[132] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

me  over  in  his  impetuous  way  and  growled 
about  my  doing  such  fool  stunts." 

"Mark  seems  rather  formidable,"  said 
Mr.  Kane. 

"His  bark's  worse  than  his  bite,"  I  told 
him,  "but  I  think  your  way  was  the  wisest 
and  nicest,  Mr.  Kane." 

We  had  a  most  delightful  evening.  He  is 
a  writer,  not  of  fiction,  but  of  articles,  scien- 
tific stuff.  He  spends  some  of  his  vacations 
here. 

Today  being  Saturday  I  had  my  half 
holiday  allowance,  and  when  Mr.  Kane  came 
over  the  Haphazards  were  scattered  far  and 
wide.  On  account  of  the  trouble  with  his 
eyes,  the  oculist  has  forbidden  his  using  them 
for  a  time,  so  I  read  aloud  to  him.  I 
haven't  read  to  anyone  since  you  went  to 
Alaska.  I  enjoyed  it  so  much,  and  so  did 
he,  he  said.  Then  we  had  a  nice  long  talk. 
He  is  older  in  years  and  experience  than  Mark 
or  Barry  or  any  of  the  men  I  have  been  used 
to  playing  about  with,  and  he  has  a  reflec- 
tive, tolerant  way  of  regarding  life  that  ap- 
peals to  me.  Though  he  is  terribly  well 
informed  (so  they  tell  me)  he  doesn't  adver- 
tise it  by  talking  learned  stuff,  but  is  inter- 
[133] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

ested  in  all  the  little  frivolities.     I  bet  he'd 
even  play  paper  dolls  if  I  suggested  it. 

Soon  after  dinner  Mr.  Kane  had  to  leave 
to  attend  to  some  function  the  Coverleys 
were  giving.  Tippecanoe  went  to  the  thea- 
tre. I  pleaded  my  letter  to  you  so  that 
the  coast  might  be  clear  for  the  quartette 
of  lovers. 

I  have  sat  up  late  to  write  you  a  long 
letter.  As  much  as  I  have  enjoyed  Mr. 
Kane,  I  am  glad  he  had  to  leave  early  so  I 
could  write  to  you.  Here  are  one  thousand 
and  one  kisses,  dearest  daddy,  from, 

YOUR  JOAN. 


[134] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


May  18th. 
FATHER-DEAR: 

MY  letter  didn't  reach  the  postman  be- 
cause I  kept  forgetting  to  buy  stamps, 
so  you'll  get  a  postscript.  Your  pamphlets 
and  postals  of  Alaskan  scenery  are  so  entic- 
ing I  shall  be  glad  to  take  the  future  pleasure 
trip  out  there  that  you  promise  me.  Isn't  it 
great  the  way  the  dredger  behaves?  It  must 
be  working  out  well  if  that  skeptical  Mark 
is  enthusiastic.  He  has  always  shrugged 
his  shoulders  at  your  schemes. 

Mr.  Kane  —  I  can't  seem  to  call  him 
Roger,  although  he  says  Joan  very  easily  — 
is  here  two  or  three  times  a  day  and  almost 
every  evening.  We  went  to  a  ball  game 
together  this  afternoon.  Sometimes  when  I 
come  home  early  I  slip  over  to  the  pergola 
(Jo  has  improvised  a  stile)  and  read  to  him. 

Aline  came  over  to  Mildew  Manse  one 
afternoon  when  Jo  was  away  for  the  day  and 
asked  Mrs.  Haphazard  to  drive  out  to  River- 
side with  her.  She  had  several  parcels  with 
her.  Two  hours  later  she  telephoned  me  to 
come  out  there.  I  never  beheld  a  more 
[135] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

foolish,  fussed-up,  little  office.  White  mus- 
lin curtains  looped  back  with  blue  ribbons, 
rugs,  two  or  three  pictures  on  the  wall,  a 
fancy  spread  for  the  table  and  several 
knickknacks. 

"You  forgot  the  plants  and  a  bird-cage," 
I  reminded  her. 

"Isn't  it  lovely?"  she  asked  delightedly. 
"I'll  come  and  fix  your  Bureau  up  for  you." 

"No,  thank  you,"  I  declined.  "It  is 
sweet  in  you  to  offer  —  but  you  see  Mr. 
Goudolaris  wouldn't  like  it." 

"He  wouldn't!"  she  exclaimed.  "Why 
not?" 

"Well,  you  see,  being  Greek,  he  likes 
things  plain  and  undecorated,  something 
like  the  architecture  of  his  classic  country, 
you  know." 

Daddy,  this  letter  ends  right  here.  By 
the  way,  Mr.  Kane  loves  to  sit  just  outside 
one  of  the  French  windows  of  California  at 
twilight  time  and  hear  me  sing.  I've  never 
attempted  "Backward,  Turn  Backward," 
again,  and  won't  until  I  sing  it  to  you. 

Again  good-night.  I  hope  that  I  dream 
of  you. 

YOUR  OWN  AND   ONLY  JOAN. 
[136] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


May  20th. 
FATHER-DEAR: 

NO  one  but  Mrs.  Munk  and  Goudolaris 
gives  the  Bureau  its  due.  The  Hap- 
hazards, as  I  wrote  you,  view  it  from  their 
regular  joke-angle  of  vision.  They  call  me 
"The  Junior  Lady  from  Philadelphia,"  "Solo- 
mon's Successor,"  "A  Second  Portia,"  etc. 
The  business  doesn't  exactly  appeal  to  Barry. 
He  squirms  between  his  domestic  instinct  and 
his  commercial  theories.  As  for  Roger  Kane, 
well,  he  is  too  gallant  to  tell  me  he  is  shocked, 
but  he  is  a  Virginian.  Enough  said.  Any 
reference  to  the  Bureau  brings  to  his  mouth 
a  wistful  droop  that  he  intends  for  a  smile. 
He  doubts  very  much  your  approval.  So  do 
I.  He  thinks  that  when  you  reach  Nome  I 
will  receive  closing-up  orders,  but  it's  a  long 
ways  to  Nome,  or  from  Nome.  I  shall  be 
interested  in  Mark's  comments.  He  will  prob- 
ably want  to  break  the  Bureau.  No!  Break 
is  too  mild  an  action  for  Mark.  He  will 
want  to  smash  it.  To  the  aforesaid,  above- 
mentioned  backers  of  the  Bureau,  however, 
[137] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

anything  that  pays  goes,  and  the  Bureau 
certainly  pays. 

The  Bureau,  however,  sinks  into  insig- 
nificance compared  with  what  has  happened 
since  my  last  letter.  In  the  first  place,  it 
rained  torrents  that  finally  settled  into  a 
steady  downpour,  lasting  two  days  and  as 
many  nights.  The  morning  it  slackened  I 
was  late  to  breakfast  and  Jo  was  leaving 
the  house,  carrying  a  suitcase.  Hap  said 
he  had  gone  away  on  business.  That  noon 
as  I  was  on  my  way  home  to  change  my 
dress,  I  met  Aline.  When  I  asked  her  where 
she  was  going  she  evaded  my  question. 

When  I  returned  at  night,  Mrs.  Irving  was 
at  Mildew  Manse  asking  for  Aline.  None  of 
the  Haphazards  had  seen  her  since  break- 
fast, but  I  explained  that  I  had  met  her 
that  noon.  Mr.  Irving  then  came  in  to  find 
Jo's  whereabouts,  but  no  one  knew  where 
he  had  gone. 

"I'll  telephone  Walters,"  he  said.  "He 
will  know." 

I    knew    he    would    not    know    where    to 

locate  Barry,  for  Goudolaris  had  telephoned 

him   that   afternoon   that   he   was   going   to 

have  some  frogs  cooked  as  he  liked  them. 

[138] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

So  I  slipped  out  to  join  him.  I  had  a  theoiy 
of  my  own  about  Aline.  She  has  quite  an 
imagination,  and  she  has  become  very  fond 
of  the  little  office.  She  might  have  gone 
out  to  revel  in  air-castles,  which  are  the 
nearest  approach  to  a  home  she  and  Jo  have 
been  able  to  build.  When  she  is  absorbed 
in  anything  or  in  one  of  her  make-believe 
moods,  she  has  no  idea  of  the  flight  of  time. 

I  found  Barry  feasting  on  frogs.  He  was 
as  certain  as  I  was  that  we  would  find  her 
at  Riverside  Bluff,  and  we  motored  out  there. 
When  the  car  stopped  at  the  sign  of  "Joseph 
Hazard,  Agent  for  Riverside  Bluff  Sub- 
division," Barry  looked  at  me  and  I  looked 
at  Barry.  There  was  no  vestige  of  an  office 
in  sight. 

"It  was  portable,"  I  suggested,  giggling 
hysterically.  "Jo  is  so  attached  to  his 
office  he  must  have  taken  it  with  him.  Took 
up  his  house  and  walked,  or,  maybe,  Aline 
has  stolen  it!" 

Barry  was  silent.  He  jumped  from  the 
car  and  ran  toward  the  river.  I  followed. 

"Look  here,  Joan,"  he  said  excitedly. 
"Jo  told  me  yesterday  that  the  river  was 
rising  rapidly  and  he  thought  maybe  the 
[139] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

office  had  better  be  moved  back.  It  was 
here  this  morning,  though,  on  the  very- 
edge  of  the  water.  It's  a  pretty  sure  thing 
it  has  gone  down  stream." 

"Well,  then  —  Aline  - 

My  knees  began  to  tremble  at  the  con- 
clusion. 

"Barry,"  I  continued,"  she  is  lost  to  every- 
thing when  she  reads  or  dreams!  Do  you 
suppose  she  sat  here  in  the  office  and  never 
noticed  when  it  slipped  away?  We'd  better 
telephone  all  the  towns  below." 

"Nonsense,  Joan,"  he  replied.  "No  one 
could  be  as  daffy  as  that,  but  we  must  find 
Jo.  If  Aline  had  planned  any  expedition 
she  would  have  told  him.  I  didn't  pay  any 
attention  to  the  name  of  the  place  he  was 
going,  but  after  I  take  you  home,  I  will 
hunt  up  a  man  that  was  talking  to  him 
about  some  new  process  for  walks." 

When  we  stopped  at  Mildew  Manse,  the 
Haphazards,  Irvings  and  Roger  Kane  stood 
on  the  front  steps  in  consultation.  Mr. 
Irving  had  just  received  a  telegram  from 
Jo  which  read:  "Aline  safe.  Meet  her  at 
interurban  station  at  8:40  tonight." 

As  it  was  now  near  that  hour  we  all  re- 
[140] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

paired  to  the  station,  where  we  made  quite 
an  imposing  line-up. 

Aline,  smiling  and  serene,  got  off  an  inter- 
urban  train  but  would  not  answer  any  ques- 
tions until  we  were  in  California. 

"I'd  been  shut  in  so  long,"  she  began  her 
narrative,  "that  I  was  desperate,  so  when  it 
cleared  a  little  this  morning,  I  went  out  to 
Jo's  office.  I  had  been  there  some  tune 
when  I  happened  to  look  up  from  what  I 
was  doing,  and  you  can  imagine  my  surprise 
when  I  found  that  the  office  was  shooting 
down  stream.  It  almost  took  my  breath 
away  at  first,  but  when  I  remembered  that 
there  were  no  falls  below,  I  didn't  mind  so 
much,  and  made  up  my  mind  to  enjoy  my 
ride,  so  I  brought  a  chair  out  on  the  porch 
and  sat  down  comfortably,  pretending  it  was 
my  houseboat  and  that  I  was  taking  a  little 
trip." 

The  three  young  boys  gave  a  sigh  of 
ecstasy  and  envy  at  the  thought  of  such  a  ride. 

"All  kinds  of  wreckage  floated  past  me, 
but  I  saw  nothing  I  wanted  until  an  oar 
came  along.  I  managed  to  secure  it,  hoping 
I  might  be  able  to  guide  the  office  ashore 
when  I  came  to  a  bend  or  a  narrow  part. 
[141] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

I  went  a  great  many  miles  seeing  no  one  on 
the  shore  to  call  to  for  help.  At  last  I  saw 
I  was  nearing  a  town  and  I  was  sure  I  would 
be  rescued.  When  I  came  to  a  sharp  bend 
and  I  was  driven  nearly  inshore,  I  tried  to 
help  with  my  oar,  but  I  didn't  know  how  to 
use  it,  and  I  went  the  wrong  way.  I  had 
given  up  hope,  when  suddenly  a  man  ap- 
peared on  the  bank  nearest  me.  It  was  Jo. 
He  had  a  pole  and  he  pulled  the  house- 
boat—" 

She  paused.  By  the  look  in  her  eyes  I 
saw  she  was  living  over  again  the  happiness 
of  their  meeting.  We  kept  still  as  long  as 
our  curiosity  would  allow,  and  then  began 
a  volley  of  questions,  all  of  which  she  an- 
swered fully.  She  said  Jo  had  walked  down 
to  look  at  the  river  and  see  if  it  were  still 
rising  as  he  was  worrying  about  the  office, 
and  that  was  the  first  thing  he  saw  when 
he  came  out  of  the  grove  to  the  bank.  The 
pole?  It  just  chanced  to  be  lying  on  the 
ground  —  luck-sent.  He  would  have  swum 
out  if  he  hadn't  managed  with  the  pole. 

"Didn't  you  notice  when  you  first  went 
into  the  office  that  the  river  was  right  on 
a  level  with  it?"  asked  Barry. 
[142] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"No;  I  didn't  look  at  the  river  until  the 
moment  I  noticed  the  office  was  afloat." 

"But,  Aline,"  asked  her  mother,  "what  were 
you  doing  that  you  were  so  lost  to  the  world?  " 

It  was  the  question  I  had  been  wanting 
to  ask. 

"I  will  give  you  each  one  guess,"  she 
replied. 

These  were  our  guesses:  Barry,  reading; 
Tippecanoe,  sewing;  Hally,  dreaming  of  Jo; 
Hap,  drawing  plans  for  another  annex  to 
Mildew  Manse;  Mrs.  Irving,  studying  the 
cookbook;  twins,  playing  solitaire;  Joan, 
writing  to  Jo.  She  told  us  no  one  had 
guessed,  though  Hap  and  I  were  lukewarm. 

I  am  glad,  daddy,  that  our  lot  is  above 
any  possible  water  line.  Whoever  buys 
that  one  low  lot  had  better  build  a  Noah's 
ark  for  a  home. 

After  the  Irvings  had  gone  home,  Roger 
Kane  and  I  went  into  Lower  California, 
where  there  was  a  very  dim  light.  We 
talked  over  the  latest  Haphazard  happenings 
and  then  for  the  first  time  I  saw  his  eyes. 
He  took  off  his  goggles  for  a  moment.  Such 
beautiful,  soft  eyes  —  like  brown  velvet!  I 
love  them.  There  is  a  little  air  of  aloofness 
[143] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

and  sadness  about  him  that  is  very  fascinat- 
ing. He  told  me  I  reminded  him  sometimes 
of  one  who  was  very  dear  to  him.  I  im- 
agine he  loved  a  girl  and  she  died  young, 
and  he  is  faithful  to  her  memory.  You'd 
like  him  very  much,  father.  How  I  long 
for  you  to  meet  all  these  people  who  are  so 
near  and  dear  to  me. 

I  am  glad  Mark  is  developing  business 
instincts,  and  looking  into  the  dredger  busi- 
ness. I  liked  your  description  of  your  little 
snuggery.  Wasn't  it  grand  you  found  such 
a  place  and  did  not  have  to  stay  at  a  hotel? 
You  say  if  you  were  to  be  there  permanently 
instead  of  being  obliged  to  move  on  to  wild 
parts,  you'd  send  for  me.  Much  as  I  long 
to  see  you,  I  couldn't  come  now  because  I 
think  you'll  hurry  the  work  faster  if  I  am 
at  this  end  of  the  line.  And  I  couldn't  give 
up  my  Bureau  which  is  earning  a  home  for 
us.  Anyway,  since  Mark  has  assumed  the 
attitude  of  utter  silence  toward  me,  I  think 
we'd  not  be  comfortable  together  just  now. 

I  must  finish  this  letter  so  I  can  begin 
another  to  you. 

Your  very  own, 

JOAN 
[144] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

P.  S.  The  other  day  I  saw  Heck's  chubby- 
faced  little  sweetheart  trying  to  jump  the 
rope  backward.  She  tripped  about  every 
third  jump.  My  ruling  passion  of  long  ago 
revived.  I  took  the  rope  from  her  and  was 
having  a  blissful  time  alternating  forward 
and  backward  skips  when  I  chanced  to  glance 
toward  the  house.  There  was  Jo  snap- 
shotting me!  Later  when  he  showed  me  the 
result,  developed,  I  felt  that  it  would  be 
best  appreciated  by  Mark,  so  in  trifling  re- 
turn for  the  darling  picture  he  sent  me,  I 
mailed  it  to  him.  I  trust  it  may  soften  his 
sulkiness  toward  his  little  sister  and  bring 
her  a  message  from  —  Nome. 

J.L. 


[145] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


May  30th. 
FATHER-DARLING  : 

DO  you  remember  when  Mark  was  a 
little  boy  he  called  this  day  the  "Day 
of  Decorations"?  Every  holiday  except  this 
one  seems  to  change  with  the  years.  The 
Christmas  tree  hangings,  lights,  and  toys  are 
different;  New  Year  celebrations  have  grown 
more  festive  and  cabaretish;  Fourth  of  July 
fireworks  are  more  brilliant  and  wonderful. 
But  today  the  parade  is  an  exact  counter- 
part of  the  first  one  I  ever  saw.  The  same 
carryall  of  white-frocked,  blue-sashed  chil- 
dren, the  same  fife  and  drum,  the  same 
Grand  Army  veterans  —  or  remnant  of  them. 
The  bands  play  the  same  tunes  from  the 
jerky  strains  of  the  Star  Spangled  Banner 
down  the  line  to  Columbia,  Gem  of  the 
Ocean,  and  on  to  the  inspiring  Hot  Time  of 
the  Spanish-American  war  soldiers. 

It  has  always  seemed  a  depressing  holiday 
to  me  and  I  was  telling  Roger  Kane  so  as 
we  stood  under  the  old  flag  that  floated  from 
the  front  of  Mildew  Manse. 

He  made  no  reply  and  I  began  to  wonder 
[146] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

at  his  silence,  he  is  so  responsive  and  sym- 
pathetic. I  turned  and  looked  up  at  him. 
His  hat  was  off  in  deference  to  the  day  and 
the  parade.  Just  then  he  removed  his 
goggles  and  I  saw  him  wipe  away  a  tear. 
Do  you  know,  I  liked  it  in  him  and  I  liked 
it  that  he  didn't  seem  in  the  least  ashamed 
of  his  emotion.  And  he  is  a  Southerner,  too. 
I  think  they  have  more  sentiment  than  we 
Northerners.  $ 

As  we  went  into  the  house  together,  he  put 
his  arm  about  me  and  said  gently:  "Poor, 
little  girl,  this  has  been  a  hard  week  for 
you!" 

It  has,  daddy;  that  is  why  there  has  been 
a  longer  lapse  than  usual  between  my 
letters. 

The  very  next  day  after  I  wrote  you, 
Heck,  the  younger  and  more  delicate  of  the 
twins,  had  a  match  with  Tyke  Donnelly  to 
see  who  could  sit  the  longest  on  a  big  cake 
of  ice.  Herk  was  referee  and  timekeeper, 
and  the  contest  came  off  in  the  Donnelly's 
woodshed,  witnessed  by  a  favored  few  of  the 
Fourth  Grade  Athletic  Club,  admission  one 
cent,  proceeds  to  pay  for  the  ice.  Tyke 
won  by  fifteen  and  one-half  seconds  and 
[147] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

received  the  cross  of  the  club  awarded  only 
to  victors. 

The  victory  was  a  surprise  to  all.  Heck 
was  not  susceptible  to  cold  and  was  possessed 
of  a  great  amount  of  pluck.  I  think  it  was 
defeat  and  disappointment  as  well  as  the 
exposure  that  brought  on  a  fever  that  night. 
He  was  out  of  his  head  and  raved  and 
mourned  about  the  cross.  Herk  hovered 
about  the  sick-room,  and  I  expected  he'd 
be  ill  from  sheer  sympathy. 

On  the  seventh  night  the  doctor  looked  for 
a  crisis.  Mrs.  Haphazard,  Hally,  and  Jo  were 
worn  out,  but  each  one  begged  to  stay  with 
Heck  that  night.  The  doctor  wouldn't  have 
one  of  them.  "You  are  all  too  worn  out 
and  unstrung,"  he  said.  "I  want  a  level- 
headed—" 

His  eyes  fell  on  me. 

"You'll  do,"  he  said,  and  he  took  me  up 
to  Heck's  room  and  gave  me  directions  for 
the  night.  It  was  a  fairly  good-sized  room 
with  east  and  west  casement  windows 
through  which  a  soft,  fragrant  breeze  swept. 
The  only  furnishings  were  the  little  white 
bed,  a  chair  and  a  table.  The  floor  was 
bare,  no  curtains  at  the  window  —  the  kind 
[148] 


of   a  room    to   meet    with    professional    ap- 
proval. 

The  doctor  said  he  looked  for  no  change 
for  a  few  hours  and  he  would  snatch  a  little 
sleep  while  he  could,  as  he  meant  to  spend 
the  night  there.  He  gave  me  explicit  di- 
rections for  emergencies  and  told  me  to  call 
him  if  Heck  rallied  from  the  torpor  that  had 
succeeded  his  ravings.  I  sat  there  for  about 
three  hours.  The  house  was  deathly  still. 
I  was  not  sleepy;  my  mind  was  alert.  I 
lived  over  my  whole  life  from  the  time  Mark 
came  to  us.  As  I  looked  back  it  occurred 
to  me  that  he  must  have  been  very  fond  of 
me  in  those  days  to  put  up  with  my  bul- 
lyings  and  bickerings  as  he  did,  for  he  had 
a  good  hot  temper  himself.  He  told  me 
once  he  loved  to  have  me  abusive  because 
I  was  so  sweet  and  sorry  afterward.  When 
I  had  re-lived  those  days  and  come  up  to 
the  present,  it  seemed  incredible  that  in 
two  months  time  these  people  could  come 
to  mean  so  much  to  me.  Then  I  grew  cold, 
thinking  of  what  might  happen  this  very 
night,  and  I  grew  afraid  —  awfully  sick- 
afraid.  Suppose  the  change  came  quickly 
before  I  could  summon  anyone  in  this  im- 
[149] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

mense  house?  Suppose  Heck  died,  and  I 
had  to  tell  them?  Yes,  I  was  afraid.  Afraid 
of  the  stillness,  of  Death  —  whom  I  had 
never  met.  If  anyone,  even  Herk,  had 
stayed  with  me!  I  longed  for  Jo's  sweet, 
sustaining  strength,  for  Barry's  cool  effec- 
tiveness, but  most  of  all  for  Roger  Kane's 
absolute  sureness.  I  turned  coward  and 
pretended  to  see  an  approaching  change  as 
an  excuse  to  call  the  doctor.  And  then  - 
the  change  came.  There  was  a  stirring  in 
the  little  white  bed.  A  small  form  tried  to 
sit  up  and  fell  back.  Two  big  eyes  stared 
into  mine. 

"Joan,"  a  feeble  little  voice  wailed,  "he 
won  —  Tyke  won  —  the  cross." 

I  forgot  all  the  doctor's  directions.  I  just 
felt  that  he  must  know,  before  he  died. 

I  went  to  the  bed,  put  my  arms  about 
him  and  raised  him  up. 

"Heck,"  I  said,  "you  did  win.  Tyke 
Donnelly  cheated.  He  stuffed  a  book  open 
at  'The  Boy  stood  on  the  Burning  Deck,' 
in  the  seat  of  his  trousers.  He  confessed 
when  he  heard  you  were  sick.  They  took 
the  cross  away  from  him  and  sent  it  to 
you.  Here  it  is." 

[150] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

I  took  it  from  the  drawer  of  the  table 
where  it  had  been  put  in  readiness  for  him, 
and  laid  it  in  his  hand. 

His  head  sank  on  my  shoulder.  His  eyes 
looked  into  mine  with  the  contented  look  of 
one  who  wants  no  more.  A  feeble  smile,  a 
clutch  of  the  cross  and  he  fell  back  into  a 
deep,  quiet  sleep. 

The  doctor  miraculously  appeared.  I 
didn't  move,  but  I  felt  his  hope.  In  an- 
other moment  pillows  were  propped  against 
my  back.  A  light  coverlet  was  placed 
around  Heck  and  another  around  my  shoul- 
ders. 

I  didn't  stir  from  then  on.  I  knew  what 
Heck's  sleep  would  mean  toward  recovery. 
At  dawn  I  looked  over  my  shoulder  out  the 
eastern  window.  I  saw  the  rising  sun.  I 
looked  straight  ahead  through  the  western 
window  and  saw  a  dying  moon.  The  best 
omen  in  the  world,  you  know,  to  see  the 
two  at  the  same  time.  I  knew  then  Heck 
would  recover. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  be- 
fore he  awoke.  He  looked  at  me,  felt  the 
cross,  remembered  and  —  smiled.  The  doc- 
tor sent  me  away.  I  met  Mrs.  Haphazard. 
[151] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

I  shall  never  forget  the  look  in  her  eyes 
when  I  told  her  Heck  was  going  to  get  well. 
How  Mark  and  I  used  to  long  for  a  mother! 
Neither  of  us  could  remember  one. 

Heck's  road  to  recovery  has  been  swift. 
Yesterday  the  doctor  let  Jo  carry  him  down 
to  California  to  spend  the  day  on  the 
sofa. 

He  was  a  little  petulant  —  a  splendid 
sign  —  in  the  afternoon,  and  Hally,  who 
adores  the  twins,  was  the  only  one  who 
could  soothe  him.  She  took  him  in  her 
arms  and  was  singing  softly  to  him  when 
Barry  came  in  unseen  by  her.  She  had  on 
a  summer  dress  with  short  sleeves,  and 
Heck's  fair  head  was  pressed  against  one  of 
her  soft  white  arms.  The  tender  mother- 
look  was  in  her  eyes.  Altogether  she  looked 
divine.  I  heard  a  little  gasp  from  Barry, 
and  then  he  went  quickly  to  her.  I  slipped 
from  the  room.  I  knew  what  would  happen. 
It  did.  He  asked  her  then  and  there  to  be 
his  wife.  Heck  repeated  the  proposal  accu- 
rately to  us  all.  They  are  to  be  engaged 
for  a  year.  Then  Hally  will  be  nineteen  and 
will  have  made  enough  marmalade  to  buy 
a  trousseau.  They  will  go  abroad  for  a 
[152] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

brief  honeymoon  and  afterwards  live  on 
the  Bluff  next  to  our  lot.  Surely  by  that 
time  we'll  be  living  there  too,  Daddy? 

Wilkie  Haphazard  came  home  for  a  day 
when  he  heard  about  Heck.  He  couldn't 
quite  grasp  the  state  of  affairs  when  Barry 
asked  him  for  Hally,  as  he  still  thinks  of  her 
as  his  little  girl  and  doesn't  want  to  give 
her  to  anyone.  That  was  what  you  said, 
daddy,  but  you  added  that  it  had  to  be 
some  day,  and  that  was  why  you  wanted 
to  give  me  to  Mark,  because  you  would  not 
feel  quite  so  parted  from  me  as  you  would 
if  I  married  a  stranger.  You'd  adore  Roger, 
father.  He  has  been  so  dear  to  me  through 
Heck's  sickness. 

The  day  after  the  crisis  I  passed  in  most 
needed  slumber,  so  the  poor  little  Bureau 
was  left  alone  with  the  Greeks.  Yesterday 
I  went  down  again  and  trade  was  brisk. 
Goudolaris  with  Grecian  simplicity  informed 
me  that  he  had  a  son  and  insisted  on  my 
going  to  his  house  to  see  the  Graeco-Hiber- 
nian  product.  He  is  a  funny-looking  baby 
with  hair  as  red  as  his  face,  a  straight  little 
Grecian  nose  and  dark,  long-lashed  eyes. 
His  name  is,  —  honest  truth,  daddy,  his 
[153] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

name  is,  —  Bureau!  Mrs.  Goudolaris  quite 
insisted  on  Mike.  Goudolaris  stood  out  for 
Christakis.  The  priest  was  called  in  coun- 
sel and  tactfully  proposed  neutrality  in 
name,  but  after  protracted  maneuvers  and 
skirmishes  they  could  not  fix  on  a  preferred 
nationality  so  the  priest  again  came  to  the 
rescue  and  suggested  a  coined  name  —  a 
name  that  was  not  a  name.  Goudolaris  re- 
called the  Bureau  and  its  prosperity.  I 
suggested  (without  charge)  that  they  spell 
it  Euro.  I  told  the  mother  confidentially  I 
thought  that  spelling  gave  it  an  Irish  flavor, 
and  I  told  the  Greek  head  of  the  house  that 
it  was  more  like  any  country  than  Ireland. 
This  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  had  any- 
one named  after  me.  I  shall  give  my  name- 
sake a  silver  cup. 

I  am  going  to  begin  embroidering  for 
Hally.  She  told  me  last  night  that  she 
owed  Barry's  love  to  me,  but  she  doesn't. 
I  only  gave  her  a  little  shove  in  the  right 
direction,  that  was  all.  I  see  one  thing 
plainly.  Even  if  neither  had  cared  for  the 
other,  I  couldn't  have  loved  Barry  —  not 
in  a  thousand  years.  So  all's  well  that 
ends  well. 

[154] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Here  I've  written  about  every  one  but 
Tippy.  Of  course  he  has  a  new  job.  He 
is  collecting  for  a  firm.  Imagine  a  Hap- 
hazard urging  anyone  to  "settle!"  If  Tip 
ever  lands  a  job  where  I  think  he  has 
the  slightest  show  of  sticking,  I  shall  put 
weights  on  him.  He  seems  to  be  living  on 
starts,  and  his  life  is  a  series  of  starts  and 
stops. 

In  a  little  more  than  six  weeks,  you'll  be 
in  Nome  and  reading  all  these  letters.  I 
give  you  fair  warning  now  that  if  Mark 
influences  you  to  the  point  of  ordering  me 
back  to  that  solitary  confinement  place 
where  you  left  me,  I'll  rebel  even  if  I  have 
to  regain  my  independence  by  marrying 
Tippecanoe.  I  have  a  fetching  gown  of 
peachbloom  with  pink-plumed  hat  to  match, 
and  he'll  sure  propose  if  I  wear  them.  I 
can  make  enough  from  the  Bureau  to  pay 
our  board  at  Mildew  Manse  and  I'll  sell 
your  lot  besides.  So  watch  your  step. 
But  you  won't  do  anything  like  that,  daddy. 
Not  after  you  read  all  my  letters,  I  am  sure, 
Mark  or  no  Mark.  For  you  love  your  little 
daughter,  even  if  she  doesn't  always  act  as 
she'd  orter. 

[155] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

It  must  be  the  last  day  of  May  by  this 
time,  and  I'll  kiss  you  good-night  in  your 
little  round  frame  and  forgive  Mark  a  lot 
of  things  for  sending  you  to  me. 

I  have  a  picture  of  Mark,  too,  on  my 
table.  The  one  where  he  is  twelve,  and 
all  arms  and  legs.  I  showed  it  to  Roger 
one  day  and  he  said:  "He's  a  homely  little 
tyke."  I  rushed  to  Mark's  defense  with 
that  grand  one  taken  in  Paris.  I  think  he 
was  impressed,  though  it's  hard  to  tell  what 
expressions  pass  behind  those  impenetrable 
blue  goggles.  When  I  showed  him  the  only 
typical  picture  Mark  ever  had  taken  —  that 
one  in  hunting  clothes,  he  said:  "This 
must  be  the  real  Mark."  Then  he  added 
very  gently  —  he  always  addresses  me  in 
the  tone  one  would  use  to  a  very  young 
child  —  "May  I  give  you  a  picture  of  my- 
self and  may  I  have  one  of  you?  Because 
in  another  week  I  shall  be  going  away,  and 
I  don't  want  you  to  forget  me." 

I  told  him  his  picture  wouldn't  be  neces- 
sary to  keep  him  in  mind.  I  dread  to  think 
how  much  I  shall  miss  him,  but  I  shall 
have  his  letters,  for  I  have  promised  to 
write  to  him  and  he  is  coming  back  in 
[156] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

August.     Everything    seems    to    be    coming 
in  August. 

Here  is  my  last  good-night,  and  do  you 
still  love  me  a  lot?  And  will  you  promise 
never  to  leave  me  again? 

JOAN 

P.  S.  Maybe  Mark  would  rather  I  kept  a 
recent  photograph  of  him  on  exhibition,  but 
if  he  only  knew  it,  I  truly  loved  him  in 
those  days.  Up  to  date  I  am  heart  whole, 
but  if  ever  I  come  under  the  shadow  of 
Cupid's'  wings,  I  shall  still  maintain  that 
there  is  no  affection  quite  so  pure,  so  strong 
and  so  tender  as  that  of  a  little  girl  for  her 
chosen  companion  in  play  days. 

I  once  worked  myself  up  to  a  tearful 
state  over  Mark's  kinless  condition  and  I 
told  him  I  wished  he  were  truly  my  brother. 
He  muttered  somberly  that  he  didn't;  he 
had  never  wanted  a  sister;  was  glad  he 
didn't  have  one;  that  if  I  had  been  a  sissy 
and  not  known  enough  to  play  boys'  games, 
he  should  never  have  had  anything  to  do 
with  me. 

J.  L. 


[157] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


June  6th. 
FATHER-DEAR: 

r  I  ^HE  prize  lot  has  been  awarded.  And 
A  who  do  you  suppose  won  it?  You 
would  never,  never  guess.  Aline  Irving! 
That  was  what  she  was  doing  the  day  the 
office  slipped  down  stream  with  her  on 
board.  She  didn't  mean  that  Jo  or  any  of 
us  should  know  she  was  a  contestant.  After 
all  it  wasn't  surprising  that  she  won.  She 
loves  the  river  and  she  put  her  whole  heart 
into  picturing  the  charms  of  a  river-home. 
Then,  too,  she  must  have  had  a  tremen- 
dous inspiration  or  she  would  have  seen 
that  she  was  afloat. 

"You  must  have  written  some  hot  stuff, 
Aline,"  commented  Haphiram  admiringly, 
"seeing  it  took  the  house  off  its  feet." 

"You  can  sell  it  for  a  good  profit,  Aline," 
I  suggested,  "and  use  the  money  to  help 
build  a  little  cottage  on  Jo's  lot." 

"I  like  a  big  yard,  Joan,  and  so  we  will 

build  a  cottage  on  the  dividing  line  between 

the  two  lots  where  we  can  all  go  and  camp 

out;   for,  of  course  it  will  be  only  a  summer 

[158] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

cottage.  I  wouldn't  live  anywhere  else  but 
in  Mildew  Manse." 

Oh,  dear!  Why  won't  some  of  them  face 
the  issue  of  the  numbered  days  of  Mildew 
Manse? 

Poor  Tippecanoe  is  out  of  the  collecting 
business.  He  didn't  rake  in  a  cent  from 
the  debtors.  I  feel  quite  certain  that  he 
never  asked  one  of  them  to  settle,  but  he 
had  a  lovely  time  visiting  with  them  and 
receiving  presents  of  cigars  which  he  brought 
home  to  Jo.  He  believed  implicitly  all  their 
little,  lame  excuses  for  the  non-payment  of 
their  debts  and  even  tried  to  argue  in  their 
favor  with  the  firm  for  which  he  was  collect- 
ing. In  fact,  I  don't  know  but  it  would 
have  been  a  clever  idea  for  the  creditors  to 
form  a  union  and  engage  Tippy  as  agent 
to  show  why  they  could  not  or  should  not 
settle  their  accounts.  He  has  several  things 
in  view.  He  glibly  enumerated  them  to 
me  and  I  told  him  that  he  had  too  many 
irons  in  the  fire,  and  I  was  afraid  he  would 
put  it  out. 

Yesterday  afternoon  I  read  Roger  Kane 
the  letter  I  had  just  received  from  you.  He 
said  something  very  nice  to  me  after  I  fin- 
[159] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

ished,  and  I  am  repeating  it  because  it  was 
about  you,  too.  He  said:  "That  letter 
explains  you.  With  such  a  father  —  a  fa- 
ther who  takes  time  to  write  you  such  let- 
ters — you  couldn't  be  otherwise  than  what 
you  are." 

Oh,  Daddy,  Daddy  Lynn,  you  always 
have  taken  time  to  write  me  letters  and  to 
do  everything  for  me.  Haven't  we  had  the 
dearest  times  together?  And  the  times  that 
are  yet  to  come  will  be  still  dearer.  Do  you 
know  what  I  once  overheard  you  say  years 
ago  when  some  old  fusser  was  advising  you 
to  marry?  You  said:  "Joan  is  the  dearest 
little  housewife  in  the  world,  and  she  is 
never  going  to  have  a  stepmother."  How  I 
loved  you  for  that! 

I  have  something  wonderful  to  tell  you. 
One  evening  Barry  came  up  when  we  were 
all  sitting  out  on  the  west  veranda. 

"Some  one,"  he  began  earnestly,  "and 
I  am  not  at  liberty  to  tell  who,  has  asked  to 
be  allowed  to  contribute  in  a  slight  way  to 
your  pleasures.  He  is  a  man  without  rela- 
tives and  he  says  it  will  be  a  great  kindness 
to  him  if  you  will  let  him  follow  his  fancy 
in  remembering  you." 

[160] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"What  is  it  he  wants  to  do?"  asked  Jo 
abruptly.  More  than  any  Haphazard  Jo 
shrinks  from  donations. 

"He  merely  wants  to  send  trifles  over  for 
the  general  enjoyment.  He  is  especially 
fond  of  boys  and  interested  in  their  sports. 
The  first  thing  he  wants  to  send  is  a  tent." 

I  was  somewhat  disappointed  in  hearing 
this  gift  mentioned.  I  had  indulged  in  a 
moment's  wild  hope  that  some  millionaire 
lover  of  Mildew  Manse  was  planning  to 
buy  the  place  and  hand  it  to  the  Hap- 
hazards on  a  gold  platter.  I  knew  at  once 
who  the  philanthropist  was.  Roger  Kane! 
The  description  fitted  him  precisely.  He 
loves  the  three  young  Haps,  and  it  was  only 
the  other  day  he  was  quizzing  them  about 
the  different  kind  of  tents. 

"Why,"  demanded  Jo,  "can't  he  come  out 
in  the  open  and  give  the  youngsters  a  tent 
without  this  mystery?" 

"Because  he  is  rather  peculiar  in  his  way 
of  doing  things.  He  is  modest,  too,  and 
dislikes  being  thanked." 

"You  know,  Barry,"  objected  Jo,  "it 
makes  a  difference  from  whom  you  accept 
things." 

[161] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"I  know  it  does.  He  foresaw  this  objec- 
tion and  told  me  I  might  select  you  as  con- 
fidant on  condition  that  it  was  kept  secret 
between  you  and  me." 

"Oh,  Jo,  don't  object!"  cried  the  little 
boys  standing  in  pleading  line-up  before 
him. 

"I  don't  want  to  put  a  feather  in  the 
path  of  your  good  times,  boys,"  he  said 
earnestly,  "anti  I'll  manage  somehow  to 
buy  you  a  tent." 

Barry  pulled  Jo  away  out  of  hearing.  I 
felt  sure  that  when  Jo  learned  the  name  of 
the  would-be  gift-giver,  he  would  be  satis- 
fied, for  he  admires  Roger  Kane  immensely. 

One  look  at  Jo's  face  was  sufficient  to 
show  that  all  his  doubts  were  removed. 

"It's  all  right,  kiddies.  He  may  give  you 
the  tent." 

In  the  wild  whoopee  that  went  up  from 
the  trio,  Jo's  eyes  sought  mine  whimsically. 
I  read  his  thought  that  Roger  -Kane  was 
doing  this  as  much  for  me  as  for  the  boys. 

"I  don't  have  to  guess  who  the  donor  is, 
I  said  in  an  aside  to  Barry.  "I  know." 

"I  thought  you  would,"  he  said  in  signi- 
ficant tone,  and  as  if  he  were  not  altogether 
[162] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

pleased,  "but  remember  I  am  not  indorsing 
your  surmise,  and  one  of  the  conditions  is 
that  nothing  is  to  be  said  to  him." 

When  Barry  and  Jo  went  inside  to  dis- 
cuss Subdivision  matters,  we  all  speculated 
on  our  unknown  fairy  godfather.  All  except 
Aline  were  positive  it  was  Roger  Kane. 
Aline  thought  he  was  an  elderly  man  who 
lived  a  hermit  life  in  a  house  cloistered  by  a 
wall  and  hedge  that  shut  it  completely  in 
from  the  street.  She  had  often,  she  said, 
noticed  him,  in  his  daily  walks  which  he 
took  just  before  twilight  time,  stop  and 
watch  the  little  boys  at  play.  Once  on  her 
way  through  the  grounds  to  Mildew  Manse 
she  had  seen  him  outside  the  window  of 
California  looking  wistfully  within  and  lis- 
tening to  Tippecanoe's  ballads. 

Herk  and  Heck  said  whoever  the  giver 
might  be,  he  was  a  good  old  scout,  and  they 
didn't  care  a  hurrah  what  his  name  might  be. 

The  next  morning  I  loitered  after  break- 
fast and  was  rewarded  by  seeing  a  delivery 
truck  stop  in  front  of  the  house.  The  boys 
shouted: 

"She's    come    already!    It's    the    Linden 
Tent  Company's  Truck.", 
[163] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

It  seemed  to  me  there  was  enough  canvas 
and  paraphernalia  for  a  circus.  When  I 
came  home  at  noon,  the  yard  looked  like 
an  encampment.  There  was  a  very  large 
tent  with  a  fly  in  front  and  a  smaller  tent 
in  the  rear,  and  from  a  pole  a  beautiful  flag 
flew. 

I  stood  speechless,  quite  overcome  by  the 
magnitude  of  our  martial  glory. 

"Come  inside,  Joan,"  chorused  the  trio. 

I  followed  their  lead.  If  there  is  any 
equipment  pertaining  to  soldiery  omitted, 
it  is  because  it  isn't  obtainable. 

"Look  at  this  once,  Joan!" 

Hap  awesomely  lifted  a  lid  to  a  camp 
chest  and  I  beheld  three  complete  khaki 
uniforms  all  for  the  grade  of  captain.  He 
thrust  a  bugle  before  my  eyes  and  then 
blew  a  blast  that  nearly  raised  the  roof  — 
I  mean  the  fly. 

The  three  young  captains  informed  me 
that  I  was  to  be  Joan  of  Arc.  Haphiram 
wanted  me  to  ride  the  Donnelly's  white 
calf  as  a  near-approach  to  a  white  steed, 
but  I  am  doubtful.  Calves  have  a  burro- 
like  way  of  kicking  up  their  heels,  and  I 
don't  want  to  risk  my  new  white  suit. 
[164] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"This  is  surely  the  joy-zone!"  declared 
Roger  Kane  when  he  came  over  to  witness 
the  camp. 

"We  will  give  you  a  mess-tent  banquet 
the  night  of  your  return,"  I  promised. 

"That  will  sustain  me,"  he  said,  "through 
the  next  two  months  when  I  shall  be  busy 
dictating  to  my  stenographer." 

"Is  she  pretty?"  I  asked  quickly  and 
felt  how  inane  the  inquiry  was  when  he 
replied  gravely:  "My  stenographer  is  a 
young  man  who  wears  lavender  shirts  and 
smokes  cigarettes." 

I  couldn't  resist  saying  insinuatingly:  "It's 
simply  grand  for  the  boys  to  have  that 
glorious  tent.  I  am  so  glad  for  them." 

"I  am  thinking,"  he  said  trying  to  speak 
casually,  "that  Joan  of  Arc  will  enjoy  it  as 
much  as  her  three  little  captains." 

Then  he  quickly  changed  the  subject  and 
I  didn't  venture  to  say  more. 

He  was  going  to  leave  on  the  train  that 
night,  and  when  he  came  to  bid  us  good-bye 
he  shook  hands  with  all  the  Haphazards, 
but  when  he  came  to  me,  to  my  surprise 
he  stooped  and  kissed  me  very  gently,  al- 
most reverently.  I  was  not  at  all  embar- 
[165] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

rassed,  strange  to  say.  Some  way  I  had  an 
odd  little  feeling  that  he  was  in  reality 
kissing  the  little  sweetheart  who  died. 

After  he  had  gone  I  was  too  lonely  to 
write.  I  sat  down  before  the  pictures  of 
you  and  Mark  and  added  one  of  Roger  to 
my  little  group.  I  have  missed  him  today, 
but  he  is  coming  back,  and  oh,  daddy,  as 
glad  as  I  shall  be  to  see  him  again,  it  will 
be  as  nothing  compared  to  the  joy  of  seeing 
you  once  more.  Just  as  soon  as  you  have 
dredged  just  a  little  gold,  let  the  rest  stay 
in  the  sands  and  come  home  to  me. 

The  only  solace  I  shall  find  in  your  getting 
peeved  about  the  Bureau  business  is  that 
it  may  hurry  you  back.  If  you  knew  how 
hard  I  hit  the  trail  of  the  postman  watching 
for  your  letters! 

I  kiss  you  good-night. 

JOAN. 


[166] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


June  13th. 
DARLING  DADDY  LYNN: 

THINK  of  having  Christmas  for  a 
straight  week  and  in  summer,  too! 
Three  days  after  my  last  letter  to  you,  one 
of  the  big  music  companies  delivered  a  Vic- 
trola  at  Mildew  Manse!  It  is  a  godsend  to 
shut-in  Grandma,  and  Mrs.  Haphazard  says 
it  makes  the  dishwashing  seem  livelier  and 
when  she  has  something  to  be  done  in  a 
hurry,  she  puts  on  a  double-quick-time 
record.  It  is  lovely  for  dancing,  as  we  are 
now  just  three  couples.  Roger  Kane  adored 
to  watch  us  dance,  though  like  Mark,  he 
doesn't  dance  himself. 

The  following  day  came  the  very  latest 
invention  in  wheel-chairs  for  Grandma  with 
all  conveniences  attached  —  electric  flash- 
light, reading  desk,  lunch  tray,  thermos 
bottle  and  book-holder. 

And  of  all  the  gifts  that  the  Magi  could 
bestow  this  is  the  loveliest  and  the  best! 

When  Jo  and  Barry  were  out  of  hearing, 
I  declared:  "Whoever  he  is,  Roger  Kane, 
or  another,  I  love  him  for  this!"  And 
[167] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

the  Haphazards  all  cried:  "So  do  I!  So 
do  I!" 

"It's  no  use,"  I  announced,  "whether  he 
likes  it  or  not,  I  am  going  to  write  to  him. 
I'll  not  call  him  by  name,  and  I'll  carry 
out  the  farce  of  giving  it  to  Barry  or  Jo  to 
mail." 

"I  could  say  my  prayers  more  fervently 
if  I  thanked  some  one  besides  Providence," 
said  Grandma. 

"You  bet  your  neck  I'll  write  him,"  cried 
Herk. 

"Me,  too,"  chimed  in  Heck. 

Haphiram  was  already  blotting  his  cheeks. 
He  is  nearsighted  and  his  eyelashes  scratch 
the  paper.  Here  are  the  letters  we  wrote 
our  "unknown"  friend,  alias  Roger  Kane: 

FROM  GRANDMA: 

"Dear  kind  Friend,  —  For  such  you  are 
to  me  —  to  us  all.  It's  a  heart  of  gold  that 
thought  of  such  a  gift  to  me,  and  that  you 
may  have  your  Heart's  Dearest  Desire,  is 
the  wish  of 

"GRANDMA  HAZARD." 


[168] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


JOINT  LETTER  FROM  HAPHIRAM,  HERCULES 
AND  HECTOR: 

"TT7HOEVER  you  are,  you're  a  bully 
VV  good  scout  and  we  want  you  to  let 
us  tell  you  so  some  day.  We're  awfully 
much  obliged,  specially  for  Grandma.  And 
it's  great  to  hear  the  Victrola,  but  we  can't 
help  being  gladdest  about  those  ripping  good 
tents  and  all  the  things  that  went  with  them 
We'd  like  to  do  something  besides  thank 
you. 

"Signed: 

"HAP     1 

"HERK   >  Captains  Three" 
"HECK  ) 

MINE: 
"DEAR  SUMMER  SANTA  CLAUS: 

[  T'S  hard  to  write  to  you,  for  there  are  no 

-I  words  I  know   that   can  express  at  all 

how   we   love    you   and   love   your   way   of 

remembering  us.     You  must  know  boys  and 

soldiers  from  A  to  Izzer  to  have  thought  of 

sending    that   tent   and    all    its    equipment. 

You  must  love  music  to   send   us  such   a 

[169] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

beautiful  Victrola  and  the  fine  selection  of 
records.  As  for  Grandma's  chair,  well!  if 
you  had  committed  the  blackest  sin  on 
earth,  that  one  gift  would  have  blotted  it 
out  forever. 

"You  won't  let  us  thank  you  personally, 
but  you  can't  prevent  our  loving  you  and 
we  do  —  all  of  us  —  not  for  the  gifts  you 
sent,  but  for  the  dear  thought  and  kindness 
that  suggested  them.  Anything  we  have 
that  you  want  is  yours. 

"Jo AN  OF  ARC. 
"In  behalf  of  the  Mildew  Manse  Militia." 

WE  gave  our  letters  to  Barry,  who  prom- 
ised to  see  that  the  right  party  received 
them. 

Later  that  evening  when  I  was  sitting 
alone  in  the  hammock,  Barry  left  Hally  to 
join  me. 

"Joan,"  he  said,  "Summer  Santa  Glaus 
wants  to  give  you  something  —  just  for  you, 
yourself." 

"No,"  I  refused.  "That's  why  I  adore 
his  presents  and  himself,  because  he  is 
doing  things  for  the  Haphazards." 

"That's  just  the  point.  Affection  for  the 
[170] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Haphazards  is  the  bond  between  you.  A 
loves  B,  C  loves  B;  ergo,  C — ' 

"Oh,  Barry,"  I  interrupted  impatiently, 
"don't  let  any  more  unknown  quantities 
enter  into  this  gift  problem.  Besides  the 
tent  is  for  me  as  well  as  for  the  boys;  I 
occupy  it  as  much  as  the  Captains  Three. 
And  I'd  like  to  know  what  I  could  enjoy 
more  than  I  do  the  Victrola!  No;  Summer 
Santa  Claus  has  done  enough  for  me." 

"Joan,"  he  asked  abruptly  after  a  little 
silence,  "have  you  forgotten  Mark?" 

He's  always  harping  on  Mark. 

"No,"  I  replied  lightly.  "I  have  not 
forgotten  Mark,  but  I  am  of  the  opinion 
that  Mark  has  forgotten  me." 

"You  don't  think  that,"  he  said  gravely, 
"and  you  know  you  don't  mean  it.  If  you 
knew  what  love  meant,  you'd  know  that  a 
man  like  Mark  would  want  all  or  nothing  — 
that  it  is  adding  insult  to  injury  to  offer  a 
sister's  love  in  lieu  of  a  lover's." 

This  from  commercial  Barry.  I  suppose 
he  knows  more  about  love  than  I  do.  I 
remember  the  look  in  his  eyes  when  he  came 
into  the  room  and  saw  Hally  holding  Heck. 

The  night  was  full  of  June  smells  and 
[171] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

sounds.  Oh,  I'd  like  to  be  in  love  on  a 
night  like  this  —  I  think  I  would ! 

"Barry,  what  is  it  Summer  Santa  Claus 
wants  to  give  me  for  'just  me'?"  I  asked. 

"Only  something  that  you  could  accept 
from  anyone  —  violets ! " 

Only  something  I  could  accept  from  any- 
one !  Violets  —  the  flower  that  has  the 
nameless  charm  for  me,  a  charm  so  different 
from  any  other  flower.  Roger  Kane  knows 
how  I  love  them.  He  said  he  always  asso- 
ciated me  with  them.  I  care  very  very 
much  for  Roger  Kane,  but  violets  seem  to 
belong  to  the  memories  of  other  days  —  days 
with  you  and  Mark.  Then,"  there's  the 
chance  that  he  may  be  the  hermit.  Violets 
from  him  —  from  anyone  but  you  —  and 
Mark?" 

"No,  Barry,"  I  replied  emphatically.  "I 
don't  want  any  unknown  giving  me  violets. 
As  you  truly  say  I  don't  know  what  love 
means;  but,  still  I  have  a  certain  amount  of 
sentiment  in  me,  and  I  want  violets  to  stay 
in  the  background  with  my  old  days." 

"Forgive  me,  Joan.  I  did  you  wrong. 
You  have  not  forgotten  Mark!"  and  with  a 
tantalizing,  little  laugh,  he  strolled  away. 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"Barry!"    I  cried. 

He  stopped. 

"Changed  your  mind  about  the  violets?" 
he  asked. 

"No;  I  merely  wanted  to  tell  you  that  I 
could  no  more  forget  Mark  than  you  could 
forget  —  Aline;  but  you  needn't  jump  to 
wrong  conclusions  just  because  I  said  what 
I  did." 

"All  right!"  he  replied  lightly.  "I'll 
tell  Summer  Santa  Glaus  that  you  don't 
want  violets  from  him  because  they  are 
associated  with  another  man!" 

"If  you  do,  Barry  Walters,"  I  said,  "I'll 
write  him  myself.  You  know  perfectly  well 
that  I  know  who  he  is.  I'll  tell  him  that 
if  he  wants  to  send  me  flowers  or  anything 
else  he  can  do  so  openly  and  not  anony- 
mously, that  I  won't  have  it.  He'll  know 
then  that  you  let  me  surmise  who  he  is." 

"All  right,  Joan.  I  won't.  I'll  just  tell 
him  you  want  no  personal  gift.",  : 

I  had  a  letter  from  him  —  Roger  Kane,  I 
mean.  It  had  to  be,  he  wrote,  either  a  long 
one  dictated  to  the  lavender-shirted  man  or 
else  a  scrawl  of  a  few  words,  because  his 
eyes  are  troubling  him  again.  I  am  glad 
[173] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

he  chose  the  latter  way.     It  was  a  darling 
little  note. 

The  next  day  Barry  delivered  a  dozen 
pairs  of  gloves  for  Hally  from  Summer 
Santa  Claus.  He  said  that  Tip's  turn  had 
also  come.  I  looked  for  this  remembrance 
to  be  in  the  form  of  silk  socks,  ties,  or  maybe 
a  scarf  pin,  or  something  for  personal  adorn- 
ment. 

"Summer  Santa  Claus,"  said  Barry, 
"thinks,  Tippy,  that  you  ought  to  start  in 
some  business  that  will  be  worth  while  - 
a  place  where  you  will  stick.  And  he  ad- 
vises that  you  turn  to  account  your  unerring 
taste  in  clothes." 

"Dear  me!"  I  thought,  "is  Roger  Kane 
going  to  advise  Tip  to  turn  valet  or  some- 
thing in  the  man-tailor  line?" 

"He  knows,"  continued  Barry,  "of  a 
young  chap  with  a  modest  capital  who  is 
anxious  to  start  a  little  business  and  he  has 
proposed  to  him  to  take  you  in  with  him, 
on  a  salary  at  first,  but  with  a  view  to 
working  up  to  a  junior  partnership.  The 
business  is  an  exclusive  haberdasher's  shop, 
and  your  inherent  knowledge  of  styles  should 
stand  you  in  good  stead.  You  will  meet 


MILDEW  MANSE 

your  future  partner  at  my  office  tomorrow 
and  arrange  matters." 

Why  in  the  world  had  no  one  ever  thought 
of  this  business  for  Tippecanoe?  He  has 
always  been  a  square  peg  in  a  round  hole  in 
every  position  he  has  held,  but  this  will  be  the 
line  of  lines  for  him.  Roger  Kane,  alias  Sum- 
mer Santa  Claus,  is  wise  as  well  as  generous. 
Tip's  shiftfulness  used  to  disturb  him. 

Today  came  Mrs.  Haphazard's  present,  a 
camera.  So  every  nook  and  cranny  of 
Mildew  Manse  will  be  snapped,  as  will  the 
Haphazards  en  masse  from  Grandma  in  her 
new  chair  to  the  twins  and  Peter  Paul  and 
a  few  of  Little  Jumping  Joan  thrown  in. 
You  will  get  one  each  of  all  the  pictures, 
and  so  will  Roger  Kane. 

Your  last  letter  had  a  good  deal  to  say 
about  Mark.  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  he 
seems  "older  and  steadier,"  and  that  he  is 
"quieter  and  more  reserved."  You  rather 
intimate  that  it  is  because  of  what  happened 
before  he  went  to  Alaska.  Daddy,  I  acted 
for  the  best. 

Euro  Goudolaris  came  down  to  the  res- 
taurant in  a  brand-new  baby  cab  today  and 
was  placed  on  exhibition.  He  blinked  out- 
[175] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

rageously  at  his  namesake,  and  squirmed  like 
spaghetti  when  his  papa  gurgled  Greek  to  him. 
As  I  sat  by  my  window  in  Oregon  tonight, 
I  could  see  between  tree  tops  a  few  lone 
stars.  I  wondered  if  you  could  see  them, 
too.  Thoughts  of  you  brought  remembrance 
of  Mark  and  then  you  were  both  obliterated 
for  a  few  moments  as  I  fell  into  a  revery 
about  Roger  and  all  he  had  done  for  the 
Haphazards  —  for  me,  and  our  pleasure.  It 
isn't  a  matter  of  the  money  he  has  lavishly 
spent,  but  the  subtle,  Christmas,  gift-love 
spirit  that  comes  to  us  so  fervidly  on  the 
eve  of  the  three  hundred  and  fifty-eighth 
day  of  the  year  —  when  we  see  the  muni- 
cipal Christmas  tree  silhouetted  against  a 
misty  background  of  white  space  with  its 
illuminating,  electric  messengers  of  colored 
lights,  or  when  we  look  at  the  eager  faces  of 
little  children  clustered  at  toy  shop  win- 
dows. The  keynote  he  had  struck  in  his 
impromptu  selections  made  me  long  to  put 
in  words,  though  he  would  never  read  them, 
my  appreciation  of  his  sweetness,  so  I  wrote 
with  the  freedom  and  fullness  with  which 
we  write  only  when  we  know  that  our  pro- 
duction will  be  torn  into  bits. 
[176] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"YOU  DARLING  SUMMER  SANTA  ClAUSI 

WISH  you  were  not  of  flesh  and  blood, 
A  but  were  really  the  old  mythical  Saint 
Nicholas  of  childhood  days  so  I  could  write 
this  letter  impersonally  and  with  that  child- 
ish trust  of  long  ago,  put  it  up  the  chimney. 
For  you  have  lifted  these  gifts  far  above  the 
usual  donations. 

' '  By  their  presents  (excuse  the  homonym) 
ye  shall  know  them'  is  surely  true  in  your 
case,  and  be  you  young  or  old,  man  or 
superman,  I  love  you  not  for  your  generosity, 
for  any  man  of  affluence  can  be  generous, 
but  for  putting  yourself  in  the  place  of  the 
ones  who  are  to  receive.  You  may  be  old 
in  years  but  you  are  young  in  heart,  young 
in  years,  but  old  in  your  knowledge  of  the 
hunger  in  the  hearts  of  those  less  liberally 
provided  for  than  yourself.  In  either  case 
I  am  yours,  now  and  forever,  and  may  the 
happiness  of  the  Haphazards  be  thenceforth 
thine.  And,  with  Grandma  Haphazard  I 
wish  for  you  the  fulfillment  of  all  the  desires 
of  your  heart. 

"Trustingly, 

"JOAN  LYNN" 

[177] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

After  I  wrote  this  gushing  appreciation, 
daddy,  I  leaned  back  in  my  chair  and 
dreamed  until  I  was  too  sleepy  to  do  any- 
thing but  get  into  bed.  In  the  morning  I 
was  too  late  in  arising  to  do  anything  but 
slip  into  clothes  and  make  one  grand  rush 
for  breakfast  and  the  Bureau.  At  noon  I 
recalled  my  midnight  effusion  and  went  home 
to  destroy  it,  but  could  find  no  trace  of  it. 
Investigation  revealed  the  mortifying  fact 
that  the  methodical  Herk  had  been  the 
chambermaid  in  my  room  that  morning  and 
he  discovered  the  letter  on  my  table,  sealed 
it  and  delivered  it  to  Barry  who  forwarded  it! 

There  was  nothing  I  could  do.  And  yet 
somehow,  Roger  Kane  is  so  sweet  and  under- 
standing he  will  draw  no  wrong  conclusions. 
I  asked  Barry  to  explain  that  it  was  not 
intended  to  be  sent.  Barry's  high  glee 
jarred  some  way. 

I  had  another  letter  and  a  book  from 
Roger  Kane  today.  I  am  so  happy  that 
all  these  nice  things  have  come  to  the  Hap- 
hazards. If  the  mortgage  were  only  lifted! 
But  we  can't  have  everything.  I  don't 
want  everything,  father.  I  just  want  you 
—  with  all  my  heart.  Good-night  and  pleas- 
ant dreams;  may  they  all  be  of  JOAN. 
[178] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


June  19th. 

OH,  father,  father!  It  has  come!  Like 
a  bolt  from  the  blue.  Mildew  Manse 
can  hold  out  no  longer  against  the  mort- 
gages. The  owner  of  them  lived  in  the  far 
west,  and  his  agent  here  has  always  collected 
the  rent  —  when  he  could  —  and  when  the 
Haphazards  ever  gave  the  matter  any 
thought  at  all,  they  concluded  that  he 
would,  doubtless,  be  content  with  always 
just  holding  the  mortgages  until  he  came  to 
own  the  place  and  then  he  would  rent  it  to 
them.  But  he  died  quite  suddenly,  and  his 
heir  at  once  began  to  convert  all  securities 
into  ready  cash.  He  sent  on  word  to  the 
agent  to  take  over  the  property  here  at 
once  and  sell  it,  or  foreclose,  or  something 
like  that. 

When  the  agent  called  to  break  the  news 
to  us,  he  caused  a  panic  all  right.  You  see 
you  get  used  to  a  suspended  sword  as  time 
goes  on,  and  when  it  does  finally  fall,  it 
brings  as  much  of  a  shock  as  though  you 
had  never  suspected  that  it  was  dangling. 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  seen  the 
[179] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Haphazards  downcast.  When  the  agent 
came  back  and  put  up  a  "For  Sale"  sign, 
it  was  just  as  though  the  undertaker  had 
been  here  and  hung  a  streamer  of  crepe 
from  the  door. 

By  dinner  time  we  had  rallied  sufficiently 
to  talk  it  over  and  see  what  could  be  done 
to  save  the  ship.  One  conclusion  was  in- 
stantly reached.  It  could  not  be  bought  by 
the  Haphazards.  To  be  sure  the  wet  day 
fund,  which  by  this  time  had  reached  the 
one-hundred  dollar  proportions  insisted  upon 
by  Jo  and  which  the  revenue  from  my 
room  rent  and  breakfasts  had  greatly  helped, 
was  available.  The  little  boys  at  school 
bragged  loudly  of  their  bank  account,  but 
Jo  quickly  disillusioned  us  as  to  any  air- 
castles  we  had  been  building  on  this  re- 
serve. It  wouldn't  be  sufficent,  he  said,  to 
make  even  a  first  payment,  and  any  one  of 
the  solicitous  candidates  for  a  residence  on 
"the"  street  could  pay  spot  cash. 

It  was  unanimously  agreed  that  Father 
Hazard  was  not  to  be  told  of  the  calamity 
until  his  return.  No  sense  in  speeding  ill 
news. 

Aline  was  away  when  the  agent  called. 
[180] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

As  she  came  home  she  saw  the  sign  and  it 
was  as  startling  as  handwriting  on  the  wall. 
She  rushed  into  the  house,  but  instead  of 
being  stunned  as  the  rest  of  us  then  were, 
the  sign  seemed  to  arouse  a  fighting  spirit 
in  our  dreamy  young  princess. 

"I  won't  live  in  any  other  house!"  she 
declared  with  a  gleam  in  her  eyes.  "Jo 
Hazard,  you've  got  to  save  it!" 

"How  can  I,  Aline? ""he  asked  sorrowfully. 

"How?     Somehow,  anyhow!" 

"That  doesn't  tell  me  how  to  raise  the 
money  to  buy  the  place,"  he  said  with  a 
half  smile,  a  touch  of  the  Haphazard  levity 
returning.  "I  see  no  way,  Aline." 

"Make  a  way,  Jo!"    she  demanded. 

"Yes,  Jo;  there  must  be  some  way," 
observed  Mrs.  Haphazard  hopefully  and 
Grandma  remarked  confidently:  "Jo  always 
has  found  some  sort  of  a  way  out  of  every- 
thing for  us."  Hally  contributed  to  the 
cheerful  reminder  that  things  always  did 
work  out  right  in  time. 

Herk  and  Heck  came  in  with  air  triumphal, 
and  announced  that  they  had  fixed  things 
by   tearing   down   that   "measly   old   sign," 
and  told  Jo  he  could  do  the  rest. 
[181] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Poor  Jo!  It  was  hard  on  him  to  have  the 
burden  shoved  entirely  on  his  young  shoul- 
ders and  to  know  that  he  was  not  equal  to 
producing  the  result  they  expected.  He 
found  a  moment's  respite  in  sternly  ordering 
the  twins  to  restore  the  sign  at  once. 

"The  sign  isn't  ours,  you  know,"  he  said 
a  little  bitterly.  "Nothing  is  ours.  It's  a 
good  thing  that  man  wouldn't  mortgage  our 
furniture." 

"There's  no  mortgage  on  the  tents,"  said 
Haphiram,  speaking  for  the  first  time  since 
the  disaster.  "We  can  pitch  them  on  the 
Bluff  and  live  in  them." 

"It  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea,"  observed 
Mrs.  Haphazard  reflectively. 

"I  should  think  you  might  give  us  a  sug- 
gestion, Joan,"  said  Hap  reproachfully. 

"I  wish  father  had  some  money,"  I  re- 
plied, "but  he  hasn't  yet.  I'll  sell  my  lot 
and  Jo  and  Aline  can  sell  theirs,  and  there's 
the  wet  day  fund  —  and  - 

"Only  a  drop  in  the  bucket,"  appraised  Jo. 

"We  can  surely  borrow  of  some  one,"  I 
persisted.  "I'll  write  Summer  —  Roger  Kane. 
He- 

" Roger  Kane,"  said  Jo,  "is  very  lavish 
[182] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

with  his  money,  but  this  would  be  too  big 
a  debt  for  anyone,  and  Joan,  I  won't  let 
you  ask  anyone  to  advance  the  money. 
We  could  never  pay  it  back." 

California  was  in  mourning  that  night. 
We  all  went  early  to  bed  for  want  of  any- 
thing else  to  do. 

The  next  morning  Jo  walked  down  town 
with  me.  The  look  in  his  eyes  as  he  kissed 
his  mother  on  leaving  the  house  kept  me 
silent,  and  we  went  down  the  street  without 
speaking.  We  had  not  gone  very  far  when 
a  burly,  red-faced  man  stopped  us. 

"Oh,  Hazard,"  he  called.  "I  was  just  on 
my  way  to  see  you.  I  have  bought  the 
place  where  you  live!" 

"You  have  bought  it!"  exclaimed  Jo  in 
consternation. 

He  had  been  hoping  against  hope,  I  sup- 
pose, for  a  reprieve  —  a  little  longer  lease. 

"Yes;  I've  just  paid  over  the  money  for 
the  whole  shebang,  and  Tomlin  says  I  can 
have  immediate  possession." 

"You  wouldn't  care  to  sell  it,  I  suppose," 
asked  Jo  faintly. 

Poor  fellow!  He  couldn't  let  go  the  last 
clinging  straw. 

[183] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"I  should  say  not!"  declared  the  horrid, 
red-faced  man.  "I've  always  had  my  eye 
on  that  old  place  for  a  home.  I  am  going 
to  put  up  the  finest  mansion  in  town." 

We  walked  on  still  silent.  I  looked  down 
a  side  street  and  I  saw  —  oh,  daddy,  what 
I  saw  saved  the  day. 

I  left  Jo  and  ran  after  the  red-faced  man. 
I  heard  Jo  call  after  me,  but  it  didn't  halt  me. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  old 
house?"  I  asked  breathlessly,  when  I  had 
overtaken  the  brute. 

"Tear  it  down,  of  course,"  he  replied. 

I  beckoned  wildly  to  Jo  who  was  waiting 
for  me. 

"He  is  going  to  tear  down  Mildew  Manse," 
I  informed  Jo  when  he  had  come  up  to  us. 

"Well,  what  of  it?"    he  asked  stupidly. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  all  the 
material?"  was  my  next  inquiry. 

"Pay  some  one  to  haul  it  away,  I  sup- 
pose," he  replied. 

Jo  got  me  then,  a  little  gleam  of  the 
Haphazard  hope  creeping  into  his  troubled 
eyes. 

"Will  you  give  me  the  house  if  I  agree  to 
get  it  off  the  premises  at  once?"   he  asked. 
[184] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"I  should  say  I  would  and  throw  in  a 
few  thanks  besides.  But  what  in  the 
world  can  you  do  with  all  that  old,  rotten 
timber,  Hazard?  It's  not  fit  to  use  again." 

"I  can  use  it,"  Jo  assured  him.  "Will 
you  come  into  a  lawyer's  office  with  me 
now,  Mr.  Payne,  and  have  it  put  down  on 
paper?" 

"That  won't  be  necessary,  Hazard.  I'm 
only  too  glad  to  get  rid  of  the  old  stuff  so 
easily." 

Jo's  insistence  prevailed  and  they  left  me 
to  go  to  a  lawyer's  office.  Jo  called  after 
me  to  come  home  to  luncheon. 

On  my  way  to  Mildew  Manse  at  noon  I 
met  Barry  and  when  I  told  him  the  sad 
news  he  went  with  me.  We  were  the  last 
arrivals,  and  the  little  air  of  suppressed 
elation  *  in  Jo's  demeanor  had  brought  a 
pleasant  stir  of  expectancy  to  the  family. 

When  we  had  gathered  about  the  table  he 
announced : 

"Ed  Payne  has  bought  this  place  and  he 
says  that  he  is  going  to  put  up  the  finest 
house  in  town." 

It  was  quite  evident  that  his  news  had 
fallen  short  of  expectation. 
[185] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"And,"  he  pursued,  working  up  to  his 
climax,  "he's  given  me  this  house,  if  I  will 
take  it  off  his  hands." 

"I  suppose  you  mean,"  drawled  Haphi- 
ram,  "that  he'll  give  it  to  you  if  you'll  take 
it  off  the  lot,  not  off  his  hands." 

"The  timber  is  too  old,  I  suppose,  to  use 
in  rebuilding,"  observed  Mrs.  Haphazard. 
"Still  it  would  be  a  sort  of  satisfaction  to 
tear  it  down  ourselves  instead  of  being  ob- 
liged to  look  on  and  see  it  demolished  by 
strangers." 

"We  are  not  going  to  tear  it  down,"  re- 
plied Jo.  "Hap  was  right.  The  condition 
to  the  gift  is  that  I  take  it  off  the  lot.  I 
went  to  the  street  commissioner  this  morn- 
ing and  got  a  permit  and  I  have  engaged 
a  house-moving  company  to  come  tomorrow 
and  move  Mildew  Manse." 

There  was  no  doubt  now  about  his  creat- 
ing a  sensation,  and  all  tongues  fell  to  wag- 
ging at  once. 

"Where  will  you  move  the  house  to?" 
asked  Tippecanoe. 

"Why,  just  move  around  in  it,"  said  Herk. 
"We  can  bivouac  the  way  soldiers  do." 

"Silly!"  cried  Haphiram.  "We'll  move 
[186] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

it  on  Jo's  lot,  of  course.  Gee!  It  will  be 
handy  to  go  in  swimming  and  skating." 

"It  must  be  on  my  lot,  too,"  pleaded 
Aline.  "Isn't  it  grand  that  the  two  are 
adjoining!  We'll  put  it  on  the  dividing  line. 
Then  we'll  have  a  yard  all  around  it." 

"And  the  cellar,  Jo,"  reminded  Mrs. 
Haphazard  anxiously.  "I  must  have  a 
cellar." 

"The  men  are  out  there  now  digging  it 
right  on  the  dividing  line  between  the  lots 
as  Aline  wants  it.  It  will  be  slow  work 
moving,  you  know,  so  the  cellar  will  be 
ready  to  receive  the  Manse  when  she 


arrives." 


"But  where,  Jo,"  asked  Mrs.  Haphazard, 
"are  we  to  live  while  Mildew  Manse  is  en 
route?" 

"Why,  right  here  in  the  house,  of  course," 
replied  Jo.  "Just  as  Herk  proposed.  The 
moving  men  said  all  you  would  have  to  do 
would  be  to  take  the  pictures  off  the  wall 
and  pack  away  brick  a  brae  and  topply 
things,  and  that  you'd  be  just  as  comfort- 
able as  though  the  house  was  stationary." 

Now  he  had  scored  a  hit.     I  should  never 
thought  of  so  simple  a  solution. 
[187] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"It  will  be  cheap  and  convenient,"  ap- 
proved Mrs.  Haphazard  in  relieved  tones. 
"  I  shouldn't  know  how  to  pack  and  move  all 
our  stuff." 

"What  a  splendid  opportunity  for  me  to 
see  the  city!"  exclaimed  Grandma  excitedly. 
"I'm  tired  to  death  of  looking  at  High  Street, 
Mildew  Manse  grounds  and  the  Coverley's 
back  yard." 

"It'll  be  just  like  taking  a  trip,"  cried 
Hally  delightedly.  "We'll  call  it  our  sum- 
mer vacation." 

"And  the  woodshed  will  be  the  observa- 
tion car!"  announced  Haphiram. 

"We'll  blow  the  bugle  at  every  street 
crossing,"  chimed  in  Herk. 

"The  bugler,"  planned  Heck,  "can  sit  on 
the  roof  and  the  color-bearer  can  wave  the 
flag.  Gee!  It  will  be  great." 

"I  am  wondering,"  observed  Tippecanoe, 
"how  the  grocer,  the  butcher  and  the  post- 
man can  ever  keep  track  of  us.  We'll  have 
to  send  out  an  itinerary  for  the  trip  to  all 
our  tradesmen  and  friends.  I  am  glad  it's 
not  near  election  time,  for  we  wouldn't 
know  in  which  ward  to  register." 

"Jo,"  said  his  mother  admiringly,  "you 
[188] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

certainly  are  the  mainstay  of  this  family. 
What  would  we  do  without  you?" 

"It  was  some  clever  idea,  Jo,"  approved 
Barry. 

"What  makes  you  think  it  my  idea  when 
the  Lady  of  the  Bureau  of  Suggestions  sits 
right  here  in  our  midst!" 

"I  didn't  get  this  suggestion  at  the  Bu- 
reau," I  said  after  the  applause.  "When 
that  red-faced  Ed  Payne  said  so  brutally 
that  he  was  going  to  tear  down  the  house, 
and  I  was  having  ghastly  visions  of  Mildew 
Manse  reduced  to  a  pile  of  wreckage,  I 
looked  down  Zenith  Street  and  saw  a  house 
being  moved.  My  mind's  eye  then  conceived 
our  house  on  rollers.  I  only  wish  we  could 
take  the  yard,  too." 

"You  want  the  earth,  Joan,"  said 
Hap. 

"Certainly,  I  want  Mildew  Manse  earth," 
I  retorted. 

I  wrote  Roger  Kane  all  about  it  today, 
and  I  know  how  he  will  feel.  They  are 
going  to  ask  him  to  stay  at  Mildew  Manse 
when  he  comes  in  August.  The  Coverleys 
always  claim  him,  but  they  will  be  away  at 
their  mountain  home  by  that  time.  I  am 
[189] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

quite   sure,    daddy,    that   he   will   prefer   to 
come  to  —  us. 

When  I  left  California  tonight,  Haphiram 
quite  embarrassed  me  by  calling  out:  "Good- 
night, Mrs.  Summer  Santa  Glaus." 

They  were  all  very  mirthful  because  I 
blushed.  When  will  I  overcome  that  fright- 
fully young  habit?  Aline  diverted  attention 
from  me  by  remarking:  "I  wonder  why  noth- 
ing is  ever  said  about  Mrs.  Santa  Glaus? 
Such  a  kind,  merry,  old  man  couldn't  be  a 
bachelor.  Anyway,  Joan,  I  should  love  to 
be  the  wife  of  such  a  generous  man  as  - 
Summer  Santa  Glaus." 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Jo,  looking  at  me 
meditatively,  "I  feel  sure  that  some  day 
Joan  will  be  that  happy  woman." 

Then  I  did  blush.  You  should  have  seen 
Barry's  scowl.  Mark  certainly  has  two  firm 
friends,  you  and  Barry.  He  might  have 
three,  if  he  wished. 

I  wonder  if  Jo's  prophecy  will  come  true. 
I  don't  know  —  yet.  I  think  I  rather  like 
to  think  so. 

I  was  again  taking  my  leave,  when  Barry 
told  me  he  had  brought  up  a  new  record  he 
wanted  me  to  hear. 

[190] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Oh,  dear  me,  daddy!  The  record  was  an 
old  hunting  song  that  Mark  used  to  sing 
and  that  you  liked  so  much.  Barry  said 
Mark  sang  it  at  college  until  the  boys 
wouldn't  stand  for  it.  I  managed  to  keep 
back  the  tears,  but  it  made  me  homesick  for 
old  days  and  you  —  and  Mark.  The  man 
that  sang  for  the  record  had  a  broad  bari- 
tone and  a  rollicking  quality  in  his  voice 
like  Mark,  and  it  was  almost  as  though  I 
were  listening  to  him.  Please  don't  read 
him  this,  daddy. 

I  will  keep  you  posted  while  we  are  on  the 
move. 

With  all  my  love, 

JOAN. 


[191] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


June 
MY  DADDY-DEAR: 

WE'RE  off!  The  next  day  after  I  last 
wrote  you,  we  made  preparations  for 
the  journey.  We  took  down  the  pictures 
and  wall  decorations  and  carried  them  over 
to  Mrs.  Irving's.  We  made  quite  a  proces- 
sion, each  laden  with  a  pile  of  pictures  and 
some  passers-by  remarked:  "What  in  the 
world  is  that?"  Haphiram  impudently  re- 
torted: "It's  moving  pictures." 

The  three  boys  begged  to  be  allowed  to 
stay  at  home  from  school  and  watch  the 
"start,"  but  when  the  House-moving  Com- 
pany appeared  they  informed  us  that  it 
would  take  a  couple  of  days  to  get  ready. 

"One  to  make  ready,  two  to  begin,  and 
I  hope  three's  a  go,"  said  Hap  disconsolately. 

I  met  the  teacher  of  the  Fourth  Grade 
that  afternoon  and  she  said  she  had  had  her 
hands  full  intercepting  notes  and  muzzling 
whisperers,  but  that  in  spite  of  her  vigilance, 
long  before  recess  every  boy  in  the  school 
room  knew  that  the  "Haphazards'  house 
was  moving  and  the  folks  still  living  in  it." 
[192] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

There  are  so  many  different  kinds  of  ad- 
ditions to  Mildew  Manse,  you  know,  that  it 
required  a  lot  of  preliminary  work,  and  it 
was  a  problem  to  keep  the  parts  all  coupled 
together  like  a  railway  train.  Anyway,  I 
judged  so  when  I  heard  one  of  the  workmen 
say  what  kind  of  a  job  he  thought  it  was. 
They  are  evidently  not  used  to  moving 
families,  and  sometimes  their  language  is 
"painful  and  free." 

"It's  a  good  thing  we  haven't  a  parrot," 
mildly  commented  Grandma. 

Today  they  brought  the  merry-go-round 
horses  and  the  ropes  and  told  us  they  were 
all  ready  to  be  off. 

Hally  said  it  seemed  as  if  we  ought  to 
put  on  our  hats  and  gloves.  I  looked  for  a 
little  display  of  emotion  when  the  first  tug 
should  come  and  we  would  be  "foot-loose"  as 
Grandma  called  it,  but  the  Haphazards  are  far 
too  matter-of-fact  for  any  mock  heroics.  Jo 
has  the  most  sentiment  of  any  of  them;  odd, 
too,  since  he  is  the  most  practical. 

As  the  house  is  as  broad  as  the  entire 
street  and  pavements,  I  asked  the  "head 
guy"  as  Herk  calls  him,  if  traffic  would  have 
to  be  held  up. 

[193] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"Oh,  we  ain't  goin'  to  take  her  out  broad- 
sides," he  replied,  "but  end-to,  when  we 
are  once  out  in  the  street." 

We  looked  something  like  a  freight  train 
when  we  pulled  away. 

I  didn't  blame  the  boys  for  open  rebellion 
when  school-time  came.  Their  teacher  was 
at  the  Goudolaris  restaurant  for  luncheon, 
and  she  told  me  that  in  the  first  hour  when 
Haphiram  went  to  the  blackboard  she  was 
conscious  of  a  general  stir  of  excitement. 
Her  eyes  moved  swifter  than  the  eraser,  and 
she  saw  written  in  big  letters:  "She's 
started." 

After  school  Haphiram  came  down  to  the 
Bureau  to  invite  me  to  dinner.  Barry, 
craving  a  "real  shortcake,"  had  sent  up  a 
whole  crate  of  strawberries. 

We  started  out  in  search  of  Mildew  Manse 
and  finally  overtook  it.  They  were  all  very 
much  interested  and  entertained  by  their 
mode  of  transit.  Grandma  sat  in  her 
wheel  chair  on  the  platform  of  the  wood- 
shed because  it  made  her  dizzy  to  watch  the 
horses  go  around.  She  was  a  whole  block 
away  from  California. 

I  opened  the  front  door  and  sat  back  in 
[194] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

the  hall,  as  I  felt  a  little  conspicuous  on  the 
front  steps.  Moreover,  they  were  occupied 
by  a  galaxy  of  youth. 

One  of  Mark's  and  my  dreams  used  to  be 
to  travel  by  caravan.  Those  pictures  of  the 
forty-niners  crossing  the  desert  in  their 
covered  wagons  always  thrilled  us.  Once 
when  we  were  in  a  small  town  over  night 
and  saw  some  gipsy  wagons,  Mark  planned 
for  them  to  steal  me,  so  he  could  dash  after 
me  in  mad  pursuit  and  be  captured  before 
he  effected  a  rescue.  Alas!  The  gipsies 
would  have  none  of  me  and  set  their  dogs 
on  Mark.  To  travel  with  a  circus  would 
have  been  the  zenith  of  bliss.  We  never 
once  thought  of  traveling  by  house.  It 
beats  every  method  of  touring  I  ever  heard 
of  for  cheapness  and  comfort.  Everything 
I  used  to  wish  for  seems  to  be  coming  to 
me  this  year.  But,  oh,  daddy,  daddy!  I 
am  not  happy.  Not  really  happy.  I  love 
the  Haphazards  and  Barry  and  Aline  and 
—  Summer  Santa  Claus,  but  I'd  trade  them 
all  off  for  you.  I  wish  I  hadn't  been  "a 
good  little  Joan"  like  you  told  me  to  be  and 
stayed  behind.  As  if  I  would  have  minded 
the  rough  life!  It  doesn't  seem  to  have 
[195] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

been  as  rough  as  you  expected  it  would  be, 
either. 

At  night  when  the  workmen  left,  Mildew 
Manse  was  "switched"  for  the  night.  We 
drew  all  the  shades  and  sat  down  to  a  dinner 
for  which  Mrs.  Haphazard  made  apologies. 
She  said  she  found  it  very  distracting  to 
perform  her  household  duties  in  the  midst 
of  such  fascinating  diversion. 

Grandma  is  quite  rejuvenated  by  the 
novelty  of  the  passing  sights.  Everyone 
seemed  happy  and  perfectly  at  home  save 
Peter  Paul,  who  is  the  only  one  of  the 
animals  taken  into  our  Noah's  Ark.  He 
evidently  misses  his  boon  companions  of 
his  pergola  home. 

After  dinner  we  sat  out  on  the  side  porch 
of  Winnipeg,  that  being  the  most  incon- 
spicuous place.  We  observed  the  conven- 
tions by  foregoing  the  pleasure  of  listening 
to  the  Victrola  as  we  didn't  want  to  attract 
any  more  attention  to  the  house  than  neces- 
sary or  have  an  applauding  street  audience. 

Barry  brought  a  gift  to  the  boys  from 
Summer  Santa  Claus  of  a  season  ticket  to 
the  ball  games. 

"And  Joan,  if  you  will  call  at  Jo's  office 
[196] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

tomorrow,  you'll  find  a  peach  of  a  canoe 
ready  to  be  launched.  The  giver  thought 
you  would  not  think  it  too  personal." 

I  couldn't  remember  that  I  had  ever  told 
Roger  Kane  how  Indian-like  I  was  in  the 
management  of  river  craft,  but  Hap  ^admitted 
having  described  the  prowess  I  attained  when 
the  yard  was  afloat. 

"He's  a  Jim  Dandy!"  chorused  the  boys. 
"Why  don't  we  give  him  something?" 

"We  surely  ought  to,  but  how  can  we?" 
I  asked,  "unless  we  know  his  tastes.  Give 
us  a  wee  hint,  Barry." 

"  He'll  be  sure  to  like  anything  you  give 
him,"  evaded  Barry. 

"Let's  give  him  something  money  can't 
buy,"  I  proposed. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  we  can  do,"  suggested 
Hap.  "We  can  give  him  a  good  time. 
We'll  write  and  invite  him  to  visit  us." 

"Hap  Hazard,  you  are  a  genius!"  I 
cried.  "He'll  have  to  answer  such  a  letter. 
Shall  it  be  a  joint  one?" 

They  all  agreed  that  it  should  be  and  that 

I  was  to  do  the  writing.     I  told  him  how 

much  we  all  wanted  him  to  pay  us  a  visit 

and  if  he  would  come  at  any  time  after  we 

[197] 


MILDEW   MANSE 

were  settled  at  the  end  of  our  present  jour- 
ney, we'd  do  anything  in  our  power  to  give 
him  a  good  time.  When  I  had  written  this 
much,  I  called  them  in  and  read  the  letter, 
and  they  dictated  their  messages.  We  all 
signed  it  and  I  added  "R.  S.  V.  P."  in  the 
corner. 

Herk  explained  it  meant  "Remember, 
some  vacation  promised!" 

When  Barry  came  to' go  home,  he  thought 
some  one  must  have  stolen  his  car,  and  great 
excitement  prevailed  until  Haphiram  re- 
membered that  Barry  had  come  before 
"quitting  time,"  and  the  house  had  "gone 
some"  after  his  arrival. 

It  will  seem  odd  to  sleep  in  the  street 
to-night.  I  wonder  in  what  little  Alaskan 
town  my  daddy  sleeps?  I  hope  his  Little 
Jumping  Joan  will  creep  into  his  dreams. 
I  wish  he  might  know  in  what  safe  keeping 
she  is. 

A  fond  good-night  to  him  from  his 

JOAN. 


[198] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


June  S5th. 
FATHER-DEAR: 

WE  are  "going  some"  now.  We  are 
way  down  in  the  business  portion  of 
the  city  to-night  and  are  all  perfectly  in  love 
with  this  unique  way  of  moving  and  living 
combined. 

It  is  somewhat  difficult  for  such  of  us  as 
go  out  by  the  day  to  find  our  happy  home 
at  night.  The  "head_  guy"  tells  us  each 
morning  about  where  they  think  they  will 
be  by  "quitting  time."  Sometimes  the  fore- 
cast is  more  or  less  non-committal.  To-day 
he  said:  "If  it  ain't  down  to  Madison  it'll 
be  about  by  Sixth,  unless  some  of  the  props 
give  out.  Of  course  if  everything  goes  with- 
out a  hitch,  we  might  make  Quincy." 

The  other  night  when  I  came  home  at  the 
corner  of  Main  and  First  Streets  where  a 
turn  was  to  be  made,  I  found  Mildew 
Manse  swung  half  way  round,  the  woodshed 
resting  impudently  upon  the  lawn  of  the 
court  house  in  utter  defiance  of  the  little 
wooden  warnings  to  grass  trespassers.  Hally 
had  wheeled  Grandma  down  a  plank  to 
[199] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

the  paved  walk  and  across  the  lawn,  and  she 
was  enjoying  to  the  utmost  her  twilight 
hour  'neath  the  judicial  oaks  watching  the 
passers-by  and  the  roller  skaters. 

Our  nights  aren't  especially  restful  since 
we  have  come  down  near  the  business 
district. 

There  was  a  night  of  horrors  as  harrowing 
to  me  as  those  in  Kipling's  La  Nuit  Blanche 
Mark  was  so  fond  of.  Has  Mark  a  volume 
of  Kipling  with  him?  I  miss  the  one  from 
which  we  used  to  read  aloud  and  mark. 
We  always  did  agree  on  books  and  writers. 
Come  to  think  of  it,  we  think  very  much 
alike  on  most  things  except  dancing  and  the 
use  of  face  powder. 

I'll  try  to  describe  the  "dreadful  night." 
It  began  with  some  joy-riders  crashing  into 
the  front  porch  between  the  hours  of  twi- 
light and  street  light.  They  shattered  our 
nerves  and  their  headlights.  The  jar  was 
so  great  we  feared  Mildew  Manse  would 
come  off  her  rollers,  but  she  withstood  the 
attack  valiantly. 

Haphiram  went  to  the  front  door  and 
informed  them  this  was  no  garage,  but  a 
house. 

[200] 


The  next  disturbance  was  a  head-on  col- 
lision with  a  hook  and  ladder  truck  which 
came  around  the  corner  in  a  crack-the-whip 
style. 

Soon  after  this  excitement  there  was  a  rear 
end  attack  from  a  runaway  milk  wagon  from 
which  disaster  Peter  Paul  made  profit.  He 
has  lapped  milk  steadily  ever  since,  and  was 
more  thorough  than  a  mop  would  have  been. 
I  guess  he  thought  he  had  found  the  land  of 
Canaan. 

They  are  moving  the  house  the  long  way, 
and  fortunately  Grandma's  room  is  near  the 
middle,  so  she  didn't  get  but  slight  returns 
from  these  various  collisions. 

I  was  awakened  from  my  next  nap  by 
some  hilarious  marauders  who  had  found  a 
convenient  lodging  on  the  steps.  A  police 
ambulance  came  clanging  down  the  street 
to  the  delight  of  the  captains  three  who 
nearly  fell  out  of  the  window  in  their  ex- 
citement of  watching  the  "cops  yank  the 
boobs,"  as  Herk  expressed  it.  So  you  see 
we  don't  lack  for  adventures. 

When  Barry  came  in  to-night  he  told  us 
he  had  received  an  answer  in  the  form  of  a 
day  letter  from  Summer  Santa  Claus. 
[201] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"Summer  Santa  Glaus,"  it  read,  "will  be 
most  happy  to  accept  the  hospitality  of 
Mildew  Manse  and,  if  convenient,  should 
like  to  set  the  date  of  his  arrival  for  the 
twenty-fifth  of  July.  He  earnestly  hopes 
that  each  member  of  the  household,  includ- 
ing Miss  Lynn,  will  fulfill  the  promises  made 
in  the  letter  of  invitation." 

This  was  certainly  good  news.  It  will 
be  like  looking  forward  to  Christmas,  and 
wasn't  it  cunning  in  him  to  choose  the 
twenty-fifth  of  the  month? 

When  Barry  was  leaving  he  slipped  into 
my  hand  a  sealed  note. 

"For  you,  alone,"  he  whispered. 

I  hurried  up  to  Oregon  to  read  my  own 
little  letter  from  him.  It  was  typewritten. 
If  he  only  knew  how  needless  it  was  for  him 
to  try  to  conceal  his  identity.  I  have  been 
of  two  minds  as  to  whether  I  wanted  him 
to  answer  the  letter  that  was  not  intended 
for  his  eyes.  Sometimes  I  resented  his 
entirely  ignoring  it,  and  again  I  told  myself 
his  silence  was  due  to  his  inherent  delicacy; 
but  when  I  held  it  in  my  hand  I  knew  I  had 
wanted  it  all  the  time  —  really,  daddy,  it  is 
the  dearest  letter  I  ever  read.  At  first  I 


MILDEW  MANSE 

thought  I  would  not  send  you  a  copy,  but 
would  keep  it  for  you  to  read  after  you  have 
met  him.  I  can't  wait,  though,  so  here  it  is 

MY  WEE  JOAN: 

"Not  one  of  the  little  remembrances  I 
have  made  could  have  given  one-tenth  of  the 
joy  that  was  mine  when  I  read  your  little 
letter  which  but  for  that  blessed  boy,  would 
have  been  'the  letter  that  never  came.' 

"I  feel,  somehow,  that  you  think  you 
have  guessed  who  I  am.  Your  guess,  then, 
is  wrong.  For  you  do  not  know  me  and  I 
am  yet  a  worshipper  from  afar.  But  on  the 
midsummer  Christmas  day  I  hope  to  see 
you  and  tell  you  something  that  has  been 
in  my  heart  for  many  years  —  something 
I  thought  buried,  but  you  have  revived  old 
memories  and  the  witching  sweetness  of  your 
letter  has  made  them  most  vivid. 

"I  love  the  name  of  Summer  Santa  Claus 
which  you  gave  me.  I  am  fortunate  to  be 
allowed  the  pleasure  of  giving  and  above  all 
to  be  held,  though  most  undeservedly,  so 
generously  in  your  thoughts. 

"I  am  glad  I  am  of  flesh  and  blood;  but, 
please,  please  keep  for  me  the  childish  trust, 
[203] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

like  the  one  that  made  you  believe  in  the 
stocking  and  the  chimney. 

"If  I  am  young  in  heart,  what  difference 
make  my  number  of  years.  I  am  old  in 
my  hunger  of  heart. 

"I  pray  for  the  granting  of  your  wish  for 
me  — '  the  f ulfillment  of  the  desire  of  my 
heart.'  I  have  but  one. 

Yours  now  and  forever, 

"SUMMER  SANTA  CLAUS" 

Don't  you  love  it,  daddy?  He  has  not 
deceived  me  with  his  little  mask  of  pretend- 
ing he  is  a  stranger  and  a  worshipper  from 
afar.  I  know  what  he  wants  to  tell  me  on 
the  twenty-fifth  of  July  —  the  story  of  his 
young  life  and  the  sweetheart  who  died  and 
of  whom  I  remind  him.  I  wonder,  do  I 
want  to  hear  it?  I  shrink  from  sad  stories. 

I  adore  his  letter  and  I  hadn't  half  guessed 
the  sweetness  and  depth  of  his  nature. 

Write  me  as  often  as  you  can.  I  need 
your  letters  and  you,  my  father. 

YOUR  OWN  LITTLE  JOAN. 


[204] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

June  29th. 

A  WHOLE  week,  father!  But  it  makes 
no  difference  to  you  how  far  apart  the 
letters  are,  of  course.  It's  getting  near 
Nome-time,  though.  Summer  vacation,  and 
the  little  boys  are  like  young  colts  in  a  pas- 
ture. The  last  day  of  school  found  them  so 
far  away  from  Mildew  Manse  they  had  to 
take  a  street-car  home. 

I  must  tell  you  how  we  spent  Sunday 
en  route.  The  moving  men  left  us  on  Satur- 
day night  tied  up  between  two  churches. 
I  don't  know  whether  it  was  intentional,  for 
our  convenience  or  theirs. 

To  avoid  publicity  and  the  curious  gaze 
of  churchgoers,  the  shades  were  kept  drawn 
and  Grandma  remained  indoors. 

"We  don't  need  to  go  to  church,"  said 
Hally.  "We  can  easily  hear  two  services 
from  here." 

"Those,"  announced  Haphiram,  "who  pre- 
fer the  Episcopal  service  can  seat  themselves 
at  the  east  window;  and  those  who  want 
the  Baptist  service  can  take  the  west 
windows." 

It  was  the  first  time  in  years  that  Grandma 
had  heard  an  organ,  and  I  think  it  made  her 
[205  ] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

a  little  sad.  At  sermon  time,  she  left  the 
east  window  and  was  wheeled  to  the 
west  one,  so  she  had  "a  small  piece  of 
each." 

The  passing  of  Mildew  Manse  and  the 
Haphazards  is  really  harder  on  poor  little 
Aline  than  on  anyone.  Changes  are  always 
so  much  more  of  a  trial  for  the  one  who  is 
left.  Poor  little  me!  Daddy,  I'd  have 
died  of  homesickness  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
my  home  with  the  Haphazards. 

The  novelty  of  moving  has  worn  off  and 
we  shall  all  be  glad  to  anchor.  We  have 
managed  to  see  every  part  of  the  town  from 
the  fashionable  residences  to  rented  houses, 
business  blocks,  factory  precincts  and  settle- 
ments. We  are  now  in  the  stretch  of  open 
beyond  which  the  better  class  of  houses  — 
suburban  residences  begin. 

I  had  a  darling  letter  from  you  to-day. 
Also  a  letter  and  a  book,  which  we  are  dis- 
cussing, from  Roger  Kane.  We  had  a  piece 
of  good  news.  The  man  who  owns  the 
property  across  the  river  has  written  that 
he  has  associations  with  this  city  that  makes 
him  desirous  of  doing  something  for  the  pub- 
lic service,  so  he  is  going  to  give  land  along 
[206] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

the  river  for  a  boulevard  and  park.  Think 
of  that,  daddy!  Our  lot  will  double  in 
value. 

It  is  very  warm  tonight,  dear,  and  I  will 
write  some  more  soon,  if  not  before. 


[207] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


July  2nd. 

WE'RE  here,  daddy!  Backed  on  to  the 
double  lot  and  the  new  cellar  to-day. 
I  think  the  moving  men  got  tired  of  the  long 
trip,  too,  and  were  impatient  to  intern  Noah's 
Ark.  I  didn't  know  but  what  we  would  be 
arrested  for  speeding  the  last  two  days.  The 
horses  went  around  so  fast  they  met  them- 
selves coming  back,  and  we  all  rolled  along 
sniffing  the  river  air,  and  eager  to  get  into 
dry  dock. 

"It  does  seem  good  to  be  on  terra  firma 
once  more,"  sighed  Grandma,  and  Heck 
repeating  her  remark  to  Jo  said  Grandma 
was  "so  glad  to  get  on  vice  versa." 

Oregon  looks  on  the  river,  and  I  know 
I  shall  enjoy  the  night,  but  oh,  how  I  wish 
it  were  in  our  own  home  nest  we  were 
snuggling  tonight !  I'm  homesick  —  homesick 
for  you,  daddy.  Come  soon  to  your 

LITTLE  JUMPING  JOAN. 


[208] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


July  4th. 
DADDY: 

THIS  letter  is  on  the  installment  plan, 
but  I'll  finish  it  up  to-night,  though  it 
will  be  very  late.  We  lost  a  couple  of 
blinds,  two  window  screens,  a  flower  box  and 
a  few  other  things  en  route,  which  kept  the 
boys  busy  going  back  to  hunt  up  the  missing 
parts  and  put  them  in  place. 

Wilkie  Haphazard  arrived  on  an  early 
train  this  morning.  Jo  planned  to  meet 
him  at  the  station  and  tell  him  the  property 
had  been  sold  and  then  surprise  him  by 
bringing  him  to  the  old  home  in  its  new 
settings. 

But  the  plans  of  mice,  men  and  Haphaz- 
ards gang  aft  aglee,  and  things  conspired 
to  prevent  a  scheduled  program.  A  street- 
car blockade  made  Jo  ten  minutes  late  in 
reaching  the  station  and  there  was  no 
sign  of  Wilkie,  so  he  hurried  to  the  old 
home  where  he  found  his  father  looking 
dazedly  at  the  crumbling  remains  of  the 
cellar. 

"Was  it  a  cyclone,  Jo?"  he  asked. 
[209] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"In  a  way,  yes;  Merkell  foreclosed  with 
the  swiftness  of  a  cyclone  or  an  earthquake." 

"And  we  lost  all,  Jo?  ,When  did  it 
happen?" 

"June  nineteenth.     Ed  Payne  bought  it." 

"He  lost  no  time  in  pulling  down  the  old 
place.  Did  you  find  a  house  with  a  reason- 
able rent." 

"We  are  all  moved  and  settled,  father," 
Jo  said  leading  the  way  to  the  cab  followed 
by  his  dazed  father. 

On  the  way  out  here,  Jo  tried  to  question 
his  father  about  his  trip,  but  Wilkie  had 
but  one  thought  —  the  loss  of  Mildew  Manse. 

"So  the  old  home  is  in  ruins,"  he  sighed 
for  the  tenth  time. 

"Not  much!    Look  out  here,  father!" 

The  taxi  had  stopped  and  they  got  out. 

"You  see,"  explained  Jo.  "Payne  gave 
us  the  old  house  and  we  moved  it  on  to 
Aline's  and  my  lots." 

Something  shone  in  Wilkie's  eyes  as  he 
came  up  the  front  walk  where  we  stood  in 
a  row  in  front  of  the  house,  just  as  if  we  had 
been  grouped  for  a  kodak  picture. 

When  the  last  skyrocket  had  gone  up,  we 
had  the  Victrola  music.  And  father,  their 
[210] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

father,  said  how  many  good  things  had  come 
to  him  and  his  in  the  last  few  weeks,  and 
Haphiram  exclaimed:  "Our  run  of  good  luck 
started  when  we  got  Joan." 

And  Wilkie  put  his  arm  about  me  and 
said  I'd  have  to  be  his  littlest  daughter  now 
his  own  little  girl  was  going  to  leave  him. 

I  don't  want  to  be  his  "  littlest  daughter," 
daddy.  I  want  to  be  just  yours. 

Barry  told  us  he  had  a  message  from 
Summer  Santa  Glaus  to  Wilkie.  That  he 
hadn't  sent  him  anything,  because  he  already 
had  so  much  —  a  dear  mother,  a  loving  wife, 
a  bonny  daughter,  fine  sons,  a  home  and 
Joan  Lynn!  What  more  than  these  could  a 
man  want? 

And  Wilkie's  voice  shook  as  he  echoed: 
"What  more,  indeed!" 

Oh,  father,  it  was  a  beautiful  message, 
and  it  was  sweet  in  him  to  include  me.  It 
sounded  like  you,  and  you'd  have  done  all 
these  things  that  my  Summer  Santa  Glaus 
has  done  if  you  had  had  the  money,  wouldn't 
you,  father  dear? 

Around  about  Christmas  time  when  I  was 
a  little  girl  and  when  I  was  kindly  disposed 
to  everyone,  I  used  to  feel  so  sorry  for  Santa 
[211] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Claus,  because  he  was  always  giving  things 
and  getting  nothing  in  return.  But  this 
Santa  Claus,  this  flesh  and  blood  Santa 
Claus,  shall  have  anything  I  can  give  him. 

I  am  going  to  bed  now.  I  just  went  to 
my  window  and  saw  a  lone  skyrocket  shoot 
across  the  sky.  It  made  me  think  of  a 
falling  star.  And  falling  stars  recall  August. 
August  means  Nome,  and  Nome  means  you 
will  read  my  letters  and  know  my  friends. 

Wilkie's    homecomings    always    make    me 
homesick.     And    I    could    cry   this   minute, 
but  I  won't.     I'll  kiss  your  picture  and  say, 
Good-night, 

JOAN. 


[212] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


July  llth. 
DADDY-MINE: 

THE  ground  is  being  broken  for  Barry's 
house  and  two  bungalows  are  being 
built  beyond  Mildew  Manse.  So,  you  see, 
things  are  moving.  I  wonder  when  our 
house  will  be  started? 

Jo  called  again  upon  Mr.  Irving  and  in- 
formed him  that  his  conditions  were  now 
fulfilled.  Mildew  Manse  was  theirs  to  have 
and  to  hold  without  encumbrances,  and 
they  had  all  taken  a  solemn  vow  to  forego 
the  mortgage  method  of  meeting  expenses. 
Rally's  future  was  provided  for.  Tip  was 
contributing  to  the  family  support.  As  for 
the  salary  proviso,  Jo  told  him  he  had  had 
an  offer  from  a  real  estate  firm  at  a  salary 
of  thirty  dollars  per  week. 

Mr.  Irving  is  a  man  of  his  word,  and  of 
course  he  had  to  yield  to  Jo,  now  that  he 
has  made  good;  but  the  strange  part  of  it 
is  that  he  yielded  gracefully.  Since  the 
day  of  Aline's  river  adventure  he  has  shown 
a  different  attitude  toward  Jo.  Then,  too, 
[213] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

he  realizes  how  necessary  Jo,  the  Haphaz- 
ards and  Mildew  Manse  are  to  her  happiness. 

The  two  betrothed  couples  are  having  an 
aftermath  of  sparking.  I  don't  want  to  be 
de  trop,  and  am  getting  quite  skilful  in 
effacing  myself  gracefully  and  frequently. 
I  am  very  much  in  the  background  these 
days,  for  Tip  cohorts  with  an  extremely 
stylish  sister  of  his  partner.  The  three  boys, 
my  former  playmates,  belong  to  a  "River- 
side Nine."  So  I  am  alone,  very  much  alone. 
However,  it's  only  two  weeks  to  the  second 
coming  of  Santa  Glaus. 

Suppose  —  I  love  to  suppose  —  he  isn't 
Roger  Kane,  but  really  a  "stranger  who  has 
worshipped  from  afar!"  It  makes  my  heart 
thump  a  little  to  think  of  it.  Anyway,  he 
will  be  a  man  —  a  Heaven-sent  man.  Life 
is  lonely  —  especially  life  in  the  summer, 
moonlight  time  —  without  a  man.  His  visit 
will  tide  me  over  until  you  come  home. 

This  is  only  a  note  compared  to  my  pre- 
vious ones,  but  there's  no  more  to  tell,  and 
I  am  sleepy.  I  am  not  very  happy  to-night, 
maybe  because  it  is  such  a  lovely  summer 
moonlight  night  and  everyone  around  here 
but  your  little  Joan  is  "roamin'  in  the 
[214] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

gloamin'."  That  is  not  the  reason.  It's 
because  there  is  a  letter  overdue  from 
you. 

Good-night,  daddy, 

YOUR  LOVING  AND  LONELY  JOAN. 


[215] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


July  24th. 
DADDY-DARLING  : 

I  HAVE  sent  you  only  cards  this  last 
fortnight  because  there  was  nothing  to 
tell.  Every  day  looked  alike  to  me,  and 
there's  nothing  more  to  happen  to  the  Hap- 
hazards, I  guess. 

I  still  love  it  way  up  here  on  the  river 
bluffs  and  the  nights  are  simply  heavenly, 
but  the  moonlight  on  the  water  is  so  beauti- 
ful it  makes  your  heart  ache  when  you  are 
all  by  yourself.  The  lovers  politely  urge  me 
to  accompany  them  on  their  rides  and  motors 
and  river  excursions,  but  they  adore  me,  I 
know,  because  I  don't  accept  their  invitations. 

Do  you  know,  Father  Lynn,  that  I  have 
enough  saved  toward  our  house  to  take  me 
to  Alaska  and  back?  Sometimes  I  have  a 
great  mind  to  join  you  just  for  a  little  visit. 
I  would  if  it  were  not  for  Mark.  He  doubt- 
less is  still  peeved  and  I  might  drive  him 
away  and  I  shouldn't  want  to  do  that  when 
he  is  such  a  help  to  you.  I  think  he  might 
have  sent  me  a  line  or  a  message  —  some- 
thing besides  the  totem  pole  card  from 
[216] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Seattle  last  spring.  I  mustn't  forget  the 
birthday  present  though. 

I  don't  even  hear  from  Roger  Kane  lately, 
except  dictated  letters  which  don't  mean 
anything.  His  eyes  are  bothering  again  and 
he  doesn't  dare  use  them.  Poor  Roger! 
He  is  lonely,  too! 

Tomorrow!  Who  will  he  be?  Here's  the 
last  dip  of  ink  in  this  bottle. 


[217] 


MILDEW  MANSE 


July  25th. 

THIS  has  been  too  exciting  a  day  to 
think  of  buying  ink,  but  I  must  tell 
you  everything,  so  here  goes  with  a  pencil 
or  two.  Daddy,  daddy,  I  don't  know 
whether  I'd  scold  you,  or  hug  you,  or  laugh 
or  cry  if  I  saw  you  right  this  minute.  Well, 
you  know  in  part,  and  there's  some  you  don't 
know,  so  I  shall  begin  at  the  beginning  and 
tell  you  all. 

This  morning  I  awoke  with  my  heart 
beating  expectantly.  We  had  an  unusually 
elaborate  breakfast,  for  how  could  we  tell 
when  he  might  come,  or  how  —  by  train, 
motor,  launch,  street  car,  wheel-barrow  or 
cart?  We  made  up  our  minds  we'd  all 
stay  at  home  throughout  the  day  so  as 
to  be  in  readiness,  but  Jo  told  us  that  we 
were  very  foolish  and  that  we  should  all  go 
about  our  affairs  in  the  usual  way  and  take 
him  "when  or  how  he  comes."  Jo  had  a 
hunch  that  it  would  be  at  twilight,  or  maybe 
he'd  stick  to  his  role  and  come  at  midnight. 
I  rather  hoped  myself  that  he  would 
[218] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

wait  until  night;  it  would  seem  a  little 
more  interesting.  I  never  did  like 
matinees. 

I  went  to  the  Bureau  and  had  been  there 
but  a  short  time  when  what  do  you  suppose 
arrived?  Summer  Santa  Glaus?  No!  a 
beautiful,  huge  bunch  of  violets.  They  were 
delivered  by  a  local  florist  without  a  card. 
There  was  no  doubt  in  my  mind  but  that 
they  were  from  "the  coming  man"  and  I 
fancied  that  he  had  arrived  and  was  perhaps 
even  then  at  Mildew  Manse.  Goudolaris 
let  me  have  some  finger  bowls  and  I 
spread  my  violets  out  in  them.  They 
brought  back  old  days,  old  memories, 
so  closely!  My  heart  came  up  into 
my  mouth  and  the  tears  into  my  eyes. 
Every  time  any  one  came  in  the  door,  I 
expected.  Every  time  the  telephone  rang, 
I  expected;  but  nothing  doing!  And  the 
violets  kept  right  on  getting  in  their  rem- 
iniscence work. 

I  was  leaning  on  the  counter,  my  eyes 
shaded  by  my  hand,  planning  to  act  on  a 
sudden,  wild  impulse  to  leave  this  very 
night  for  Alaska  and  let  —  Roger  Kane  think 
me  an  ingrate,  when  suddenly  a  quarter  was 
[219] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

shoved  into  my  line  of  vision.  I  looked  up 
quickly  into  the  eyes  of  —  Mark !  And  yet 
they  weren't  at  all  like  his  eyes.  There  was 
something  strange  in  them  —  something  that 
held  me  breathless. 

"I  want  a  question  answered,"  he  said 
quietly,  yet  in  the  old,  Mark  way.  "Do 
you  love  Roger  Kane?" 

How  did  he  know  about  'Roger  Kane! 

"Mark,"   I   gasped   faintly.     "Come   in." 

I  opened  the  little  railing  gate. 

"Tell  me!  When  did  you  come?  Where 
is  daddy  and  — " 

He  came  in  and  took  my  hand,  and  some 
way  I  felt  that  I  must  talk  very  fast  and 
very  hard. 

"I  came  at  three  o'clock  this  morning," 
he  replied.  "I  went  to  a  hotel  and  told  the 
clerk  to  call  up  a  florist  and  have  some 
violets  sent  to  you;  also  to  call  me  at  nine 
o'clock.  I  see  he  remembered  the  violets, 
but  he  forgot  the  call.  Your  father  is  in 
Fairbanks  and  —  But,  Joan,  my  quarter? 
I've  paid  for  an  answer." 

"When  did  you  see  Barry?" 

"I  haven't  seen  Phil  since  last  fall." 

"Then  how  did  you  know  about  the 
[220] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Bureau  and  how  much  I  charged- for  answers? 
And  —  Roger  Kane?" 

"From  your  letters." 

"My  letters?" 

:' Your  letters  to  your  father  which  we  have 
read  and  re-read  until  they  are  in  tatters." 

"Why  —  when  did  you  go  to  Nome?" 

"We  haven't  been  to  Nome.  But,  Joan, 
I  want  my  question  answered.  Now!" 

Here  was  the  old  Mark  with  his  same 
dictatorial  way,  barking  up  the  wrong  tree 
and  arousing  my  antagonism. 

I  picked  up  the  quarter  from  the  counter 
and  handed  it  to  him. 

"We  are  going  up  to  Mildew  Manse  now," 
I  said,  "and  when  we  are  there,  I  will  answer 
your  question  —  maybe. 

I  put  on  my  hat,  restored  the  violets  to 
their  box  and  handed  it  to  Mark  to  carry 
for  me. 

"Now,  tell  me,"  I  said,  as  we  went  out- 
side, "how  you  got  my  letters  that  were 
addressed  to  Nome." 

"Is  it  too  far  to  walk  to  Mildew  Manse?" 
he  asked,  "or  is  there  a  street-car  line  out 
there?  I  can't  talk  when  I  am  zipping  along 
in  a  taxi." 

[  221  ] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

I  hailed  a  car.  There  were  very  few  pas- 
sengers aboard  and  none  near  us. 

"Tell  me!"  I  said  impatiently. 

"You  see  I  didn't  know  about  your 
absurd  arrangements  for  letters  to  go  to 
Nome  until  we  were  in  Seattle.  I  told  your 
father  there  was  no  sense  of  our  waiting 
until  August  to  hear  from  you,  and  he  said 
he  had  begun  to  realize  himself  that  it  was 
a  crazy  plan.  He  sent  a  message  to  the  post- 
master at  Nome  to  forward  all  mail  to  our 
first  landing  place,  so  we  found  two  letters 
waiting  for  us  when  we  landed." 

"And  you  have  had  them  all,  right  along?" 
I  asked  faintly.  "And  how  much  did  daddy 
read  to  you  from  them?" 

.  "He  gave  them  all  to  me  to  read,  natur- 
ally. He  was  wild  when  he  read  that  first 
one  about  your  coming  here  and  opening 
this  Bureau,  but  I  persuaded  him  to 
cool  down  to  the  extent  of  cabling  instead  of 
returning.  Then  I  advised  him  to  read  the 
second  letter  before  cabling.  When  he 
learned  how  pleasantly  you  were  located  and 
that  you  were  protected  by  a  home,  he  felt 
quite  different  about  the  matter.  Finally  I 
persuaded  him  to  leave  things  as  they  were." 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"That  is  strange.  I  thought  you  would 
be  the  one  to  object  strenuously;  not 
father." 

"Joan,  when  we  left  you  in  that  tame 
little  town,  I  was  so  completely  obsessed  by 
my  own  misery  I  had  no  thought  for  any- 
thing or  anyone  else,  but  after  we  had 
started  west* and  I  thought  of  lonely  little 
you  in  such  a  place,  I  felt  remorseful  and 
selfish.  I  was  really  glad  to  find  you  had 
taken  French  leave,  and  I  was  glad  you  had 
chosen  this  city  on  account  of  good  old 
Munk  and  Phil  living  here.  So  I  further 
appeased  your  father  by  writing  Phil  to 
look  after  you  and  let  me  know  if  there 
was  anything  distasteful  about  the  Bureau. 
And  he  answered  so  satisfactorily  we  had  no 
more  objections." 

"And  never  told  me  that  you  were  receiv- 
ing my  letters!  Why  in  the  world  didn't 
daddy  write  me  that  you  were  having  them 
forwarded  and  let  me  send  them  direct?" 

"We  talked  it  over  and  decided  not  to, 
because  we  loved  your  letters  and  we  became 
so  interested  in  the  Haphazards,  we  feared 
if  you  knew  we  were  reading  them,  you 
wouldn't  write  so  freely  or  fully." 
[223] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"Of  course  I  wouldn't  have,"  I  replied. 
"Mark  Shelby,  daddy  had  no  more  right 
to  let  you  read  all  those  letters  than 
he  would  have  had  to  let  you  read  my 
diary!" 

"But  Joan,  you  always  let  me  read  your 
diary,  you  know,  when  you  kept  one." 

"Let  you!  You  took  it  away  from  me 
forcibly  and  read  it.  That  was  why  I 
stopped  keeping  one.  But  tell  me  about 
daddy  and  the  dredger,  and  why  you  came 
and  if  you  are  going  back  and  when  - 

"Joan,  I've  only  asked  you  one  question, 
and  you  refused  to  answer.  Yet  you  are 
reeling  them  off  to  me  by  the  yard." 

"Tell  me!" 

"I  came  to  Seattle  to  fix  up  some  busi- 
ness for  your  father.  I've  been  back  there 
twice.  This  time  I  came  on  to  see  you. 
You  said  this  Roger  Kane  was  coming,  so 
I  thought  I'd  beat  him  here.  Of  course  I 
am  going  back.  Your  father  is  well,  and  the 
dredger  is  working  much  better  than  any- 
thing else  your  father  has  invented.  I  am 
afraid  there  isn't  a  fabulous  fortune  in  it, 
though." 

"I  don't  care.  I  can  make  money  enough 
[224] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

to  build  a  little  house.  I  am  glad  since  you 
have  come  on  that  you  know  all  about  the 
Haphazards,  so  they  won't  seem  like  strang- 
ers to  you.  Don't  you  love  them?" 

"Well,"  he  answered  slowly.  "I  didn't 
just  love  Jo,  at  first,  but  I  liked  him  better 
when  I  found  he  was  really  engaged  to 
Aline.  I  wanted  to  kick  Tippy!  Impudent 
young  cub!  But  I  forgave  him  when  I  saw 
you  didn't  care  for  him  and  that  he  was 
only  a  kid.  You  gave  me  a  scare  about 
Phil  for  a  letter  or  two.  He  was  too  good  a 
friend  to  steal  you  from  me,  and  I  don't 
believe  you  ever  really  meant  to  encourage 
him.  Your  father  said  not.  We  both  felt 
that  you  meant  nothing  by  what  you  wrote 
about  those  three;  but  —  we  both  noticed 
something  different  in  your  attitude  to 
Roger  Kane.  There  was  a  reserve  your 
father  didn't  like.  That  was  the  real  reason 
I  came,  if  you  want  to  know." 

"And  by  what  right,  Mark  Shelby,  do  you 
come  to  find  out  anything  about  Roger  Kane 
or  —  any  one  else?" 

"By  the  right  of  your  father's  having  sent 
me  for  just  that  purpose.     He  is  naturally 
interested    and    determined    to    know    what 
[225  ] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

kind  of  a  man  you  were  writing  so  much 
about." 

"Why  didn't  you  ask  Barry?" 

"You  know,  Joan,  that  if  I  were  going  to 
do  any  prying,  I'd  come  right  to  headquar- 
ters and  find  out  for  myself." 

We  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  street-car 
line,  and  a  walk  of  a  block  brought  us  in 
sight  of  the  river  and  the  Bluff.  Mark  was 
very  enthusiastic  over  the  scenery. 

"Look!"  I  said  as  we  came  up  the  hill, 
"do  you  see  Mildew  Manse?" 

"I  should  have  known  it  from  your  de- 
scription, Joan.  Sometimes,  remembering 
your  vivid  imagination,  I  used  to  wonder  if 
you  weren't  drawing  on  it  for  your  pictures 
of  the  house  and  family.  I  was  afraid  it 
might  all  turn  out  to  be  another  case  of 
Marjorie  Daw." 

"I  wonder,"  I  remarked  irrelevantly,  "if 
he  has  come  yet!" 

He  stood  still. 

"I  suppose  by  he  you  mean  —  Roger 
Kane!"  he  growled. 

"I  don't  know.  I  mean  Summer  Santa 
Glaus.  I  suppose  they  are  the  same." 

"If  Roger  Kane  is  here  at  Mildew  Manse, 
[226] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

I  am  not  coining  in,  not  unless  you  answer 
my  question." 

"I  will  tell  you  when  we  are  in  the  house 
and  not  a  moment  sooner,"  I  answered, 
hedging  for  time. 

Just  then  Hap,  Herk  and  Heck  came  run- 
ning to  meet  us. 

"Joan!     He  has  come!     He  is  here!" 

"And  he  is  Roger  Kane?"  I  asked. 

"We  don't  mean  here  at  the  house.  He 
is  down  town  with  Barry.  He — " 

Mark  interrupted. 

"You  are  Hap,  I  am  sure.  Tell  me  which 
is  Herk  and  which  Heck." 

"I  am  Herk."  "I  am  Heck,"  came  in  chorus. 

"I  know  you  from  your  picture,"  quoth 
Hap.  "You  are  Mark." 

"Yes,"  I  answered.  "He  is  Mark,  and 
he  knows  all  about  you,  for  he  read  my 
letters.  But  tell  me,  Hap,  who  is  Summer 
Santa  Claus?" 

"Barry  wouldn't  tell  us.  He  is  going  to 
bring  him  up  to  luncheon  and  Hally  is 
creaming  chicken.  You'll  stay  too,"  he 
added,  turning  to  Mark. 

"That   depends   upon   whom   Phil   brings 
up  and  —  something  else." 
[227] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

We  all  went  into  the  house  and  Mark  - 
I  adored  him  for  it  —  stooped  and  kissed 
Grandma  so  sweetly,  and  then  he  kissed 
Mrs.  Haphazard  and  looked  as  if  he  would 
like  to  greet  Hally  and  Aline  in  the  same 
manner. 

"Did  he  kiss  you,  Joan,  down  at  the 
Bureau?"  asked  Haphiram  curiously. 

"No;"  I  responded  without  even  a  blush. 
"He  barely  shook  hands  with  me.  He  didn't 
seem  at  all  glad  to  see  me." 

Mark  came  to  me. 

"I'll  not  kiss  you  now,  either,  Joan;  not 
until  you  answer  my  question." 

I  couldn't  dodge  the  issue  any  longer.  I 
must  tell  him. 

"Well,"  I  said,  taking  a  photograph  from 
the  mantel,  "I  don't  care  whether  you  kiss 
me  or  not,  but  maybe  this  picture  of  Roger 
Kane  will  answer  your  question." 

He  stared  at  the  photograph,  and  then 
read  what  was  written  across  it.  I  might 
as  well  'fess  up  to  you,  now,  daddy. 

Roger    Kane    is    seventy -three    years    old, 
and  the  picture  was  of  himself  and  his  wife 
and    daughter   who   are   now   abroad.     The 
inscription  was  "From  the  Kane  family." 
[228] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Mark  came  to  me  slowly  with  a  look  in 
his  eyes  that  made  my  heart  beat. 

"Joan,  you  little  witch,  why  did  you  do 
it?" 

"I  don't  know  why,"  I  replied. 

And  I  don't,  daddy,  honest. 

Then  he  did  kiss  me  —  on  the  mouth  — 
before  them  all.  I  was  mad. 

He  told  the  Haphazards  how  I  had 
"strung"  you  and  him  about  Roger  Kane, 
and  the  laugh  was  on  me.  I  never  will 
stand  for  that,  you  know.  I  felt  for  a  mo- 
ment that  I  hated  him. 

"I  don't  see,"  I  said,  "why  father  couldn't 
have  come  on  the  business  instead  of  you." 

The  Haphazards  all  looked  shocked  and 
sorry,  but  Mark,  of  course,  didn't  mind  hi 
the  least. 

"Luncheon  is  ready,  and  we  are  going  to 
sit  right  down  and  eat  it,"  said  Mrs.  Hap- 
hazard, quickly  going  out  to  the  dining- 
room.  "The  boys  and  Barry's  friend  can 
have  theirs  when  they  come." 

I  sat  across  the  table  from  Mark,  and  he 

appeared  to  be  in  high  glee.     Every  time  he 

looked  at  me,  he  had  an  amused,  exultant 

look   that  made   me   furious.     It   is   always 

[229] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

the  way;  when  I  am  almost  near  loving 
Mark,  I  find  I  hate  him,  and  when  I  think 
I  really  hate  him,  he  does  something  that 
makes  me  almost  love  him. 

I  hoped  now  that  Summer  Santa  Glaus 
would  be  a  young  man  so  I  could  flirt  with 
him  and  avenge  Mark's  proprietary  airs. 

After  luncheon  we  went  out  on  the  steps 
just  as  Jo  came  up.  When  I  introduced 
him  he  laughed  and  said:  "I  know  you 
better  as  Summer  Santa  Glaus.  Barry  is 
looking  everywhere  for  you.  He  missed  you 
at  the  train  this  morning.  Finally  found 
you  were  registered  at  the  Vincent,  but  you 
had  left  - 

"Is  he — Mark,  are  you —  I  gasped 
faintly. 

'Yes,  Joan,"  he  said  quite  humbly.  "I 
am  Summer  Santa  Glaus.  Do  you  mind?" 

I  turned  and  fled  into  the  house.  He 
followed  a  little  ways,  but  of  course  got 
lost  and  by  the  time  Hap  came  to  act  as 
his  guide  I  was  out  the  back  door,  down  the 
bluff  and  in  my  canoe.  I  crossed  the  river 
and  landed  at  a  lovely  little  cove  I  had 
discovered  the  day  before.  Then  I  made 
my  way  up  the  bank  and  into  a  little  thicket. 
[230] 


•  ' 


-  w»- 


Haphiram  had  betrayed  my  retreat,     1'age  231. 


MILDEW  MANSE 

I  simply  had  to  be  alone  and  adjust  things. 
Not  once  had  I  even  dreamed  of  connecting 
Mark  with  these  beautiful  presents  to  every- 
one. He  has  always  been  generous,  of 
course,  but  never  thoughtful.  And  how 
could  I  guess  that  he  had  read  my  letters. 
Then  I  tried  with  tingling  shame  to  recall 
all  the  things  I  had  written  about  Summer 
Santa  Claus  and  my  feelings  toward  him. 
I  was  burning  when  I  thought  of  that  last 
letter  and  the  gushing  way  I  had  promised 
to  do  anything  for  him  and  love  him. 

I  heard  a  splashing  of  water  and  looking 
through  the  bushes  I  saw  Mark  coming  on 
a  raft.  Haphiram  of  course  had  betrayed 
my  retreat. 

Mark  landed  and  soon  found  me. 

"You  might  have  known  I  came  here  to 
get  away  from  you,"  I  began. 

"Surely  Joan,"  he  answered  innocently, 
"a  man  is  licensed  to  come  over  and  in- 
spect his  own  property.  I  thought  you'd 
give  me  some  suggestions  about  the  boule- 
vard." 

"Mark!"     I    cried.     "Are   you    the   man 
who  owns  all  this  land?     Is  there  anyone 
else  you'll  turn  out  to  be?" 
[  231  ] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"I  hope  so,  Joan.  I  hope  I'll  turn  out  to 
be  the  man  you  love.  But  tell  me  why  you 
ran  away  when  you  heard  I  was  Summer 
Santa  Glaus.  Didn't  you  want  me  to  be 
the  bidden  guest?" 

"Yes,  Mark.  I  am  glad  you  are  the  one 
who  did  all  those  sweet  things  for  the  Hap- 
hazards. It  was  darling  in  you." 

"Thank  you,  Joan.  That's  the  first  nice 
thing  you  have  said  to  me  since  I  came." 

"But,  Mark,  I  had  to  be  alone  and  think 
it  all  over  —  and  try  to  .remember  what  I 
wrote.  I  —  " 

"Never  mind,  Joan,  I  wouldn't  take  an 
unfair  advantage  of  what  you  wrote  while 
under  a  misapprehension,  believing  the  giver 
to  be  an  old  man  to  whom  you  might  say 
such  things  without  being  misconstrued." 

Really  this  was  quite  decent  in  him. 

In  spite  of  my  facial  efforts  I  looked 
guilty,  I  suppose,  for  he  said  quickly:  "See 
here,  Joan,  did  you  think  all  the  time,  up 
till  now,  that  Summer  Santa  Glaus  was 
Roger  Kane?" 

"N-no;   not  all  the  time!" 

"When  did  you  doubt?" 

"I  don't  know." 

[232  ] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

"When  you  wrote  that  letter  you  didn't 
mean  to  send,  did  you  think  — 

"Yes,"  I  interrupted,  "I  did  think  so 
then.  And  that  was  why  I  didn't  mind  so 
awfully  much  his  reading  it." 

"When  you  received  his  answer  —  " 

"No;  I  knew  then  it  wasn't;  but  I  never 
dreamed  for  a  moment  that  you  could  write 
such  a  letter." 

"Why,  Joan."  he  asked  wistfully.  "Was 
it  so  difficult  to  think  I  could  write  a  letter 
that  meant  what  you  said  it  meant  to 

you?" 

"Yes;  it  was,  Mark.  You  were  never 
real  with  me  before  —  not  since  we're  grown 
up,  anyway." 

"I  never  had  the  chance,  Joan.  You 
would  not  let  me.  You  always  stopped  any 
display  of  feeling  by  laughing  at  me.  You've 
been  different  since  you  came  here.  But  tell 
me,  when  you  felt  that  Roger  Kane  didn't 
write  the  letter,  who  did  you  think  — ' 

"I  shall  have  to  read  it  over  again." 

"Tell  me." 

"I  really  was  quite  at  sea.  I  fancied  it 
might  be  some  unknown  friend  of  Barry's 
and  Jo's.  I  was  upset  and  came  near  run- 
[233] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

ning  away  to  —  Alaska.  You  must  remem- 
ber, Mark,  I  couldn't  possibly  think  it  was 
you,  for  I  supposed  you  were  ignorant  of 
the  existence  of  the  Haphazards." 

"That's  true,"  he  admitted. 

"Tell  me,"  I  asked,  "how  you  ever  came 
to  think  of  doing  just  the  right  and  nicest 
thing  for  each  of  us?" 

"Well,  you  see,  Joan,  your  letters  were 
quite  a  revelation  to  me,  and  to  your  father 
too.  Until  we  read  them  we  didn't  know, 
being  stupid  as  men  are,  how  much  you  had 
missed  in  your  life  or  what  home  life  meant 
to  you.  Your  father  really  wept  when  he 
read  about  your  first  birthday  cake.  Your 
letters  were  equally  enlightening  to  me  and 
did  me  good,  even  if  they  did  hit  pretty 
hard  sometimes.  Your  dear  little  note  of 
thanks  for  the  birthday  present  was  my  sol- 
ace though,  and  I  shall  always  keep  it." 

"You  didn't  answer  it." 

"No,  Joan.  For  once  I  was  wise  and 
didn't  answer.  When  you  sent  me  the  pic- 
ture of  'Little  Jumping  Joan,'  the  space  be- 
tween our  long  ago  and  now  was  bridged  and 
nothing  could  have  kept  me  from  coming 
back  to  try  again.  I  curbed  my  impatience 
[234] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

until  I  could  follow  out  a  course  of  action 
instead  of  words  and  my  new  siege  to  your 
heart  via  the  Haphazards  of  Mildew  Manse. 
They  had  been  nice  to  you;  you  cared 
for  them.  I  was  interested  in  them.  I 
was4  lonely  off  there,  it  helped  pass 
the  time;  I  saw  a  way  to  please  you. 
Oh,  hang  it  all,  Joan,  I  did  it  because  I 
love  you!" 

"And,"  I  said,  aloud,  though  really  speak- 
ing to  myself,  "I  love  you  because  you  did 
it." 

I  think  you  can  guess  what  happened  then, 
daddy.  You  know  Mark  —  how  impetuous 
he  is  and  how  quick  to  seize  an  opportunity. 
I  was  the  opportunity. 

And  do  you  know,  daddy  mine,  my  oppo- 
sition to  Mark  as  a  lover,  must  have  been 
of  as  delicate  and  gossamer  a  nature  as  as- 
bestos for  when  I  was  —  well,  seized,  it 
crumbled,  no  —  evaporated. 

A  straightening  out  of  tangles  followed  and 
I  learned  that  Mark  had  written  Barry 
what  to  buy  and  sent  a  check  to  cover. 
He  felt  that  Jo,  friend  to  all  lovers,  would 
under  the  circumstances  consent  to  let  him 
be  the  unknown  benefactor.  Mark  was  in 
[235] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

Seattle  when  Barry  wired  about  the  property 
and  also  when  he  received  the  invitation 
and  you  forwarded  him  my  last  letter  to 
you.  Somehow  he  managed  to  extract  hope 
from  my  letters  except  from  the  parts 
pertaining  to  Roger  Kane.  He  came  pre- 
pared to  kidnap  me,  if  necessary.  After 
explanation  came  future  plans,  all  hurry-up 
ones,  of  course,  as  his  always  are.  These 
are  the  plans  and  he  said  you  would  ap- 
prove them:  To  be  married  at  once  and 
join  you  at  Nome,  and  to  build  a  house  for 
three  on  the  Bluffs  and  live  happily  ever 
afterward.  He  says  you  are  too  much  of 
a  rover  to  stay  in  one  place  all  the  time, 
and  that  you  can  come  and  go.  You'll 
come,  and  not  go,  won't  you,  daddy? 

It  took  some  time  to  file  my  objections 
and  have  them  overruled.  I  was  quite 
dumbfounded,  though,  when  the  bugle-call 
for  "mess"  sounded  from  across  the 
river. 

"Tip  must  be  home,  but  it  can't  be  din- 
ner-time," I  exclaimed,  as  I  took  Mark's 
watch  from  his  pocket.  I  opened  the  wrong 
side  and  saw  therein  my  picture  —  the  one 
taken  with  the  kitten.  Then  there  had  to 
[236] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

be  more  —  delay.  When  I  did  look  at  the 
time-face,  I  saw  it  was  six  o'clock. 

We  returned  home  in  the  canoe  and  towed 
the  raft. 

"Hap,"  I  said  to  the  little  grinner,  as  we 
came  into  California,  "you  told  where  I 
was!" 

"Sure!"  he  acknowledged.  "Didn't  we 
promise  to  give  Summer  Santa  Glaus  a  good 
time  and  entertain  him  when  he  came?  I 
think  he's  a  brick!" 

"You'll  marry  him,  won't  you,  Joan?" 
asked  Heck  anxiously. 

"Of  course  she  will,"  assured  Herk.  "Any 
girl  would  marry  a  man  that  will  make  it 
Christmas  for  her  the  year  around." 

"That's  just  what  I'll  do,  Joan,"  prom- 
ised Mark  earnestly.  "I'll  give  you  any- 
thing that  you  wish,  every  day." 

Barry  arrived  in  time  to  laugh  at  these 
remarks.  It  was  good  to  see  their  mutual 
pleasure.  While  they  were  having  a  small 
reunion,  I  managed  to  slip  away  to  dress 
for  dinner.  When  I  came  down  stairs  it 
was  to  the  music  of  the  Wedding  March 
which  those  awful  little  Haphazards  fhad 
put  on  the  Victrola.  The  whole  family 
[237] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

surrounded  us  with  congratulations,  for 
Mark  had  told  them  everything.  He  has 
already  caught  the  Haphazard  habit  of 
telling. 

They  all,  except  Tippy,  approved  Mark's 
plans  for  an  impromptu  wedding. 

"You  never  can  get  a  trousseau  ready  so 
soon,"  he  said  discouragingly. 

Mark  told  him  a  trousseau  would  be 
wasted  where  we  were  going  and  that  that 
far  away  country  would  best  furnish  what  I 
needed. 

It  is  near  sunrise  of  another  day,  but  I 
had  to  tell  you  all,  darling  daddy,  before  I 
could  sleep.  Happy  as  I  am,  it  makes  me 
a  wee  bit  sad  to  think  that  when  I  see  you, 
I  won't  have  your  name  any  more,  but 
you'll  be  just  as  near  and  dear.  Mark  isn't 
jealous  of  our  love.  If  he  should  be,  I  will 
get  a  divorce.  It  doesn't  seem  as  if  I  could 
be  married  and  not  have  you  here,  but 
Mark  declares  it  is  your  wish.  I  suppose 
you  thought  he  had  better  take  me  before 
I  changed  my  mind.  We  are  going  to  be 
married  at  Mildew  Manse,  and  Wilkie  will 
be  here  to  give  me  away  —  oh,  Daddy! 
Barry  will  be  best  man  and  Hally,  brides- 
[238] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

maid.  They  all  planned  it  for  me.  The 
only  outside  guests  will  be  Mrs.  Munk  and 
Roger  Kane. 

A  whole  lot  of  kisses  and  —  good  morn- 
ing. 

JOAN. 

P.  S.  When  did  I  know  I  loved  Mark? 
I  think  when  he  sent  me  your  picture. 
Maybe  I  really  did  love  him  all  the  time, 
and  that  is  why  I  couldn't  fall  in  love  with 
Jo,  Tippecanoe  or  Barry.  I  do  love  him, 
daddy!  I  simply  adore  him. 

JOAN. 

P.  S.  No.  2.  I  told  Mark  it  seemed  a  pity 
to  close  up  so  remunerative  and  helpful  a 
business  as  the  Bureau,  but  he  argues  that 
the  influence  of  the  Bureau  is  not  good; 
that  it  keeps  people  from  thinking  and  act- 
ing for  themselves.  If  I  stayed  in  the 
business,  he  said,  the  public  would  have 
fatty  degeneration  of  the  brain,  and  that  it 
was  just  as  harmful  as  Latin  and  Greek 
ponies  at  school.  I  hadn't  thought  of  this 
viewpoint  before.  Maybe  he  is  right. 
Barry  just  shouted  when  he  heard  him  say 
[239] 


MILDEW  MANSE 

that.  He  said  the  men  at  college  always 
declared  Mark  should  have  taken  a  legal 
course. 

Again,  good  morning. 

JOAN. 

P.  S.  No.  3.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  after 
I  had  come  up  to  my  room,  those  three  little 
wretches  stood  outside  my  door  and  sang: 
" Every  day  will  be  Christmas  by  and  bye." 

JOAN. 


[240] 


By  the  author  of  "Mildew  Manse." 


AMARILLY 
OF  CLOTHES-LINE  ALLEY 


By  BELLE  K.  MANIATES 
Illustrated.    12mo.   $1.00  net. 


A  book  for  the  many  who  are  weary  of  problem  novels. 
How  prosperity  came  to  the  Jenkins  family,  how  Amarilly 
got  an  education,  how  the  Boarder  married  Lily  Rose 
and  built  the  Annex,  and  the  adventures  of  the  rector's 
surplice,  are  told  in  a  wholesome  little  story,  between 
whose  covers  await  many  laughs,  and  a  tear  or  two  as  well. 

Amarilly  is  blessed  with  a  large  family  and  amiable  neigh- 
bors, and  their  doings  are  amusing,  but  her  fancies  and  devices 
are  captivating.  .  .  .  The  little  heroine  is  all  right.  —  New 
York  Sun. 

The  sort  of  story  which  pulls  at  the  heartstrings  of  all 
readers  who  like  a  real  and  genuine  character.  ...  No  one  can 
afford  to  miss  the  sweet  humor  and  helpful  cheeriness  which 
the  author  serves  in  generous  measure.  —  Boston  Globe. 

"Amarilly  of  Clothes-Line  Alley"  is  a  dear  companion  for 
vacation  days  and  comes  deservedly  under  the  books  of  real 
amusement.  .  .  .  Dear  Amarilly!  she  brightens  every  hour 
spent  with  her.  —  Buffalo  News. 


LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 

34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A    000778712     0 


